


To Find Himself

by ItstheBookworm



Series: To Find Himself Series [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Allison is Teresa, Angst, Basically I wrote this because I was bribed, Evil OC's, F/M, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles is Thomas, angst with happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-05-31 07:43:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6461749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItstheBookworm/pseuds/ItstheBookworm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas and the rest of the Gladers were rescued; but it wasn't by WICKED. Instead the Beacon Hills Sheriff department was tipped by someone of the location of the Maze. There they found a dead body and a bunch of haggered teenagers. Now they have to bring these teenagers back to their family, but WICKED is fighting against them. And they have some supernatural help. Thomas doesn't know these people, but they know him. And despite Teresa (who they call Allison) trying to convince him that he knows them he can't seem to remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Me: So I know I should be updating Hellhound of Death (I’m working on the new chapter currently) but I had this prompt in my head and needed to write it down now. Also, this is after the first book (I hate Teresa and everyone told me not to read the rest of the series cause I would end up murdering something, I’m about to get the second book from one of my friends but this is after the first book/movie) when they get out of the maze.  
> Scott: Can we just get to the story?  
> Me: Fine, fine, pushy  
> Disclaimer Here -- I would say I own this, but I don’t… *eats a cookie*

3rd Person POV  
Thomas nearly fell over from exhaustion. They had made it, they had escaped the Maze. Well, not all of them. Chuck hadn’t made it, poor innocent Chuck had fallen due to Gally. Someone clutched his shoulder tightly, trying to pull him up. However Thomas couldn’t, he couldn’t leave Chuck.  
“Tommy, we need to go. Tommy,” the person shook his shoulder.  
Only one person called him Tommy, and that was Newt. He got pulled away from Chuck’s body, hearing rushed footsteps into the building. Immediately his body moved into action. Thomas pushed Newt behind him, crouching over Chuck’s body in a defensive stature.  
A bunch of soldiers came in, one of them easily grabbing Thomas and pulling him away. He fought until he couldn’t anymore. All Thomas could do was hope that they weren’t WICKED. They all ended up together in a yellow school bus. Newt sat next to him in the back, Minho sitting with Teresa in front of him.  
“Go to sleep Tommy,” Newt said nudging him gently, “We’re safe now.”  
“Are you sure about that…” Thomas asked softly, leaning his head against Newt’s shoulder, “It doesn’t feel that way.”  
Newt didn’t respond. It took a bit but Thomas eventually fell asleep.  
When he woke up Newt was nowhere to be found. He jumped up, feeling a tug on his arm. Looking down he saw a needle in his arm, which he tugged out a second later. Thomas pulled off everything that was attached to him. A few alarms got set off and he quickly ran out of the room. Footsteps echoed through the halls. A mantra repeated throughout Thomas’ head Find Newt and the others, get out, escape WICKED, and find their families. He ran into a security guard, who grabbed him. Immediately Thomas struggled and when he found he couldn’t get out of the man’s grip, Thomas opened his mouth wide and bit down hard. A strangled yelp escaped the security guard and he was let go. Without even stumbling Thomas ran down the corridor.  
Thomas turned the corner sharply and ran straight into a dark haired woman wearing pink scrubs. You know that feeling you get when there’s a word on the tip of your tongue that you can’t remember? Well that was how Thomas felt when he looked at the woman.  
“Stiles,” she chided him in a motherly tone, “What are you doing out of your room?”  
“Who are you? What the shuck is a Stiles?” Thomas asked before he could stop himself; dammit he was supposed to be escaping.  
Right when he went to dart past her a new voice joined into the conversation.  
“Thomas!” Teresa shouted at him, walking out of a room towards him, “Calm down. They’re not wicked.”  
“Teresa,” Thomas shifted on his feet, “What do you mean?”  
“They’re friends Thomas.”  
The doors at the front of the hospital slammed open. A group of kids ran in, two men leading them. One of the men was older with a stubble and wearing a grey henley. He was impossibly buff, towering over the rest of the kids. His whole stance screamed danger and respect, but had the underlying sense of being a big puppy on the inside. Standing next to him was a teenager with a crooked jaw. He was wearing a motorcycle jacket. A bit like the first man, his stance screamed respect. But, his stance also seemed friendly and open. Underneath however was a big bad wolf, just screaming to come out.  
“Allison! Stiles!” The man with the crooked jaw said, running up to them.  
Immediately Thomas pushed Teresa behind him, moving like he was going to fight. Before he could however, Teresa ran towards the man with a crooked jaw and hugged him tightly. The two embraced like old lovers.  
“What the shuck Teresa?!” Thomas exclaimed, moving away from the new group of people.  
“Thomas,” Teresa said, breaking away from the man, “Slim it. They’re not WICKED.”  
“Shuck that. How would you know?”  
“Cause I remember.”  
This was all just too much for Thomas. So he did the only thing he knew how to do, he ran. He pushed people out of the way, fighting to get to his friends. Eventually he realized that he had no clue where to look. The others were hot on his tail so he jumped up towards the vent, pushing the cover up. A bit shakily he pulled himself up into the shaft, forcing himself to fit. Then he put the cover back into place and started army crawling through the shaft.  
The vent creaked beneath him, sounding like it was going to collapse. Thomas ignored it and kept crawling. Eventually he found Minho and he dropped down into his room.  
“What the shuck Thomas?” Minho hissed at him, the asian glancing around.  
“We’ve got to go,” Thomas tried to explain.  
“Shuck that.”  
“We’re not safe here Minho!”  
“You’re just paranoid. They saved us.”  
“It’s a ploy!”  
Thomas was so distracted he didn’t notice the door opening. It was only when a needle pricked his neck that he tensed up. A sedative was injected into his neck, forcing him to relax. His eyes widened and a curse formed on his lips. Then he went slack in the pink scrubbed woman’s arms, who cradled him gently. Thomas’ eyelids fluttered and he fell asleep.  
*WOLVESANDGLADERS*  
Scott waited for months for any news of Stiles. And when they finally found him again, they found Allison too. The two had been together the whole time and they never found them. In their defense though, they had thought Allison had died. And then they found out that Stiles didn’t remember them, any of them!  
“Scott, it will be okay. None of them remember anything,” Allison said, Stiles had called her Teresa though (and that was weird).  
“How do you remember then?” Scott asked, it was a bit harsh but expected.  
“My whole body was in shock when they wiped my memories. Because of that it didn’t hold as well as it would have if I wasn’t dying.”  
And why did that have to make sense? He entangled their hands together, just for something to hold onto. The others had left after Stiles had been sedated (mostly cause Scott needed some time) so he had set Derek on giving them instructions. Isaac was out patrolling with Liam and Malia. Hayden and Lydia were researching all they could about the Maze and WICKED (Allison would join them later for some extra help). Braeden was doing something or another in finding out some answers (in other words interrogating the still alive adults that had been found in the building near the maze) and Derek was helping her.  
“He’ll be okay. Tho- Stiles is a tough shank,” Allison said.  
“Shank?” Scott asked.  
“Ugh, sorry. It’s a habit now. It basically means tough cookie.”  
Scott just smiled, shaking his head. The hand around his squeezed slightly before letting go. With the same grace she always had, Allison got up.  
“I should go make sure the others okay, go help Derek or someone,” Allison said before walking off.  
She left him sitting there. The first one she visited was Minho, who was reading a book. With slight amusement she realized that it was ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ and he seemed very engrossed in it. So Allison left him there and continued on. The next room held Thomas (or Stiles as he was known to the rest of Beacon Hills), who was strapped down and drugged. She lingered there for a few seconds before continuing on. The next room contained Gally, who was also strapped down and had a few guards outside his door. Because he killed Chuck, Gally was not going to be released to his family. Allison didn’t stay there long. She continued on, looking at the different groups of kids before she stopped outside Newt’s room.  
“You’re a Slinthead you know that,” Newt said, not looking up from where he was looking out the window.  
“Why is that?” Allison asked, taking it as an invitation to enter the room.  
“You and everyone else seem to think we’ve escaped WICKED. The only one who seems to have any sense is Thomas, and you’ve sedated him.”  
“We’re safe here Newt. I know them.”  
“Like you knew WICKED Teresa? You helped them!”  
Allison frowned and sat down next to Newt.  
“I wasn’t in my right mind,” Allison defended, “When WICKED got me I was practically dead.”  
“What?” Newt asked.  
“I was dying when WICKED got me… I was practically already dead. They messed me up bad Newt.”  
Newt didn’t respond to her, instead turning away. For a second Allison sat there before she moved to leave. A hand at her wrist stopped her. She looked at Newt, who still wasn’t looking at her. The hand left after she sat down ago.  
“Newt, we can trust these people. They’re my family, they’re Thomas’ family,” Allison said.  
“You and Thomas are related?” Newt made a face, “That’s shucked up.”  
“No! We were really close before though… My name was Allison Argent,” Allison said, settling down, “Thomas was Stiles Stilinski.”  
“Who names their kid Stiles? That person is Jacked up.”  
“It’s a nickname. No one can pronounce Stiles’ real name according to Scott.”  
“What is it?”  
Allison shrugged.  
“Hey Ter- Allison… can you tell me about yourself?” Newt sounded small, but hopeful.  
And so she did.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: So I finally finished reading all the books and to me Scorch Trials seemed more like Death Cure than anything else. Just saying.  
> Newt: She has decided not to kill me.  
> Me: Shut up Newt. I’m pissed that you died. I started crying because I ship Newtmas so hard. *goes off to cry*  
> Newt: WHAT DO I DO?! *starts pushing random buttons*  
> Computer: Self Destruct in 10  
> Newt: WHAT?!  
> Computer: Self Destruct in 9  
> Newt: TOMMY!!! MINHO!! SOMEONE?!!  
> Computer: Self Destruct in 8  
> Me: What did you do this time?  
> Computer: Self Destruct in 7  
> Newt: I hit buttons!  
> Me: Oh, that’s easy. *hits a glowing purple button*  
> Computer: Self Destruct Cancelled  
> Disclaimer Here -- I swear, the Self Destruct won’t blow up Newt

Waking up was a slow process. First his brain woke up. But everything seemed so heavy, like lead weights was holding him down. Then his body caught up to his brain, waking up slowly. It wasn’t tingly, no, but it felt like cotton. He moved his head first, trying to regain his bearings. Nothing was working the way he wanted. He knew he had to open his eyes, but his eyelids stubbornly stayed closed. Thomas used most of his mental strength just to get his eyes open. That was when he realized something wasn’t right.

He couldn’t move his arms or legs.

Thomas hated to admit it, but he panicked. Immediately his whole body was blown into full alert. Restraints kept his arms and legs from moving more than a few inches up or to the side. The chains on the restraints jiggled with every tug.

His eyes blew open in fear and the beeping of the heart monitor speed up with the beating of his heart. An alarm might have gone off, Thomas wasn’t sure. All he knew was the rushing of blood in his ears, the tight clenching of panic around his chest, and that he couldn’t move.

“LET ME GO!!” Thomas roared, barely noticing that the nurse from earlier was trying to calm him down.

The panic was getting worse the longer he was restrained. He needed to move, he needed to be able to control his own body.

“Let him go!” Someone called out.

Vaguely he recognized the voice. Someone touched his ankle and Thomas jerked, trying to get away.

“Tommy, stop fighting me,” the same person said.

Thomas found himself vaguely recognizing the voice. He stopped struggling against the bindings, but the panic didn’t lessen. The ankle restraints were removed, he could tell because the weight on them were gone now. Then his wrists were released. The second they were both gone Thomas jumped off the bed. Before he could flee someone grabbed his wrist.

“Tommy, calm down. We’re safe here. I talked to Teresa!” Newt exclaimed, pulling Thomas back into the room.

“She’s delusional!” Thomas replied, turning around, “I can feel her in my head!!”

“You’ve always been able to feel her Thomas! You talk to each other in your bloody minds!”

Minho stood outside the door, watching this amused.

“Should I leave you guys alone with your little love spat?” Minho asked.

The two broke apart immediately. A slight pink blush covered Newt’s face and Thomas wouldn’t look at the other two. Eventually the nurse, whose name tag read Melissa McCall, left the room. Minho came over and looked at the restraints on the bed, that still were hooked to the bed. An irrational panic over came Thomas when he looked at it. As if sensing this Newt grabbed onto Thomas' wrist and pulled him outside of the room. A few of the other Gladers, and some unknown girls and one boy that stuck together, wandered around the hospital. Teresa was talking with the group that Thomas ran into yesterday before he fled to Minho. 

_You have to trust me Thomas._

_Teresa?_

He froze, listening to Teresa's voice. Thomas refused to admit how comforting it was to hear her voice again. At least that hadn't changed.

_Please, just trust me. And my name actually isn't Teresa... well it is. That's my middle name. My name is actually Allison._

_Allison...?_

The name caused a headache. Like a memory trying to force it's way back but something was forcing it back. It seemed to fit Teresa really well though. Allison Teresa Argent... wait... where did he get the Argent from? Something wasn't right.

_Thomas... please?_

_Alright..._

He felt Ter- Allison retreat from his mind. Next to him Newt was talking to Minho. They both looked worried and Thomas wished someone would just tell him what was going on! There was no need to be so secretive. Hadn't he gotten them out of the Maze in the first place?! Why couldn't they talk freely around him without whispering or refusing to even speak to him about it in the first place. There was no need for secrets. They didn't need them... did they?

His inner monologue was interrupted by  Te- Allison walking up to him. Her cold, correction  _freezing_ , hands gripped his wrist. However T- Allison had always run colder than everyone else in the Glade. He had noticed the second they touched the first time. Originally he meant to ask her why she ran so cold, but he never got around to it. And now he was rambling again. Has he always rambled? Why hasn't he noticed this before?

"Come on Thomas," Teres- Allison said to him, "Here you're known as Stiles."

"Why the shuck did my parents name me Stiles?" Thomas asked confused, ignoring the snickering from Minho and Newt.

"It's not your actual name. Your real name is too hard to pronounce."

"But Stiles?"

"Stiles Stilinski actually."

 Thomas made a weird face, scrunching up his nose. Why would he ever use that nickname? Did anyone actual use it... Well apparently they did because that's what almost everyone here was using. Everyone except the Gladers that was. 

"Stiles!" the boy with the crooked jaw exclaimed, jumping out of his chair.

_That's Scott_ Ter- Allison said in his head.

However that didn't keep Thomas from taking a step back. Out of nowhere Newt showed up next to Thomas' elbow. The boy ( _Scott_ Te- Allison reminded him in his head) recoiled and stared at Newt. At first Thomas didn't understand what caused the boy ( _"Scott" "Shut up Ter- Allison"_ ) to look so scared. But then Thomas got a glimpse of Newt's face. The British boy looked completely murderous. One of the other boys (this time T- Allison didn't give a name, Thomas could feel her confusion though) got up and stood protectively next to Scott. This boy had blonde hair (almost the color of the wheat in the fields at the Glade, but a shade or two darker) and Thomas could have sworn his eyes flashed yellow for a second. 

"Liam," Scott ( _"Thank you" "Shut up Allison"_ ) reprimanded, putting a hand on the other boys shoulder.

Almost immediately Liam seemed to calm. Thomas wondered if there was something going on there that no one else knew about. But then he discarded it. The way those two were together was nothing romantic. If anything it seemed more brotherly or even, dare he say it, almost like the relationship he had with Ter- Allison. Dammit, he thought he had gotten the new name down. Apparently not.

_Stiles, you're rambling again._

_My name is Thomas._

She didn't answer.

"Why did you bring me here Te- Allison," Thomas asked, semi-harshly.

The only reason he hadn't left them yet was because he still trusted T- Allison, despite her not telling them her real name. And why did the name Allison give him such a sad feeling. Like an old friend that had died. 

"Why did you Allison? Shouldn't you have done it differently?" Newt snapped.

And that hurt. Had Newt and Teres- Allison talked behind his back? Why hadn't they told him? Newt gripped his elbow tightly, squeezing it softly. Almost like a promise that they would talk later. And why was Newt calling her Allison already? Why did it slip off his tongue so naturally? Did they spend time together that Thomas didn't know about? Maybe Tere-Allison had been closer to Newt in the Maze than he thought. Thomas didn't understand the surge of jealousy that swelled up in his chest. 

"They didn't exactly give me a choice Newt!" Ter-Allison snapped back.

"She's not lying," the strawberry blonde girl said. 

_That's Lydia. From what I learned you had a huge crush on her._

Thomas refused to respond to Te- Allison and instead turned away. This life wasn't his... couldn't be his. His father was dead, his mother was most likely dead or a crank, and he had no siblings. At least, none that he could remember. The swipe hadn't brought all of his memories back, but he certainly couldn't remember this _Beacon Hills_ in any of his memories. However they seemed to know him. 

"Stiles, its good to see you again," Lydia said with a small smile. 

"My name is Thomas..." 

Lydia frowned deeply. The others of the group flinched, all except the dark and brooding one. The dark and brooding one just grunted and raised an eyebrow. To the untrained eye he would just seem unamused and unimpressed with Thomas, but Thomas seemed to be the only one who could actually read the older male. The older one was actually silently amused at Thomas, impressed that he talked back to Lydia. 

_That's Derek. You two had an interesting relationship_

_Will you shut up. I don't know them. If you keep telling me stuff they're gonna think I do..._

She didn't reply. Thomas turned on his heel and walked off, completely ignoring the calls for Stiles. It just, he wasn't Stiles! Everyone expected him to be someone he wasn't! He wasn't this... Stiles person. He was Thomas!! Right?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Today I have Scott instead of Newt  
> Scott: I didn't exactly have a choice.  
> Me: In other words Newt is busy with Thomas and left Scott here as a gift.  
> Scott: He drugged me!  
> Me: Shush.  
> Scott: He put a bow on me and a note!  
> Me: It was really sweet. Others aren't considerate. *cough*Sherlock*cough*  
> Scott: Who?  
> Me: Sad Scott... very sad.  
> Disclaimer Here -- I haven't actually written a Sherlock fanfiction yet...

Thomas had been stressing himself out for days. While he already knew who he 'really' was, the others were just finding out today. The main reason he was stressing though was most of the kids were going to leave to go live with them and, as selfish as it was, he really didn't want to be separated from the others. He wanted Frypan, Minho, Newt, Winston, Zart, heck even Gally to stay in Beacon Hills with him. Teresa, Allison, whatever her name was had integrated into the teenagers here so well that he was left out. She worked on making it easier for him to hang out with them, but they expected him to be someone he wasn't. Whoever he was before the Maze, he wasn't that person anymore.

"You okay Tommy?" Newt asked.

They hadn't been released yet. The Gladers were apparently a medical miracle. There was something in their brains preventing them from remembering anything of their past lives. However the doctors decided it was too much of a risk preforming surgery to remove it, since the device in question was  _ATTACHED TO THEIR SHUCKING BRAINS!!!_ None of the doctors had figured out yet that Allison (he got her name right!), Thomas, and some dude from Group B (as the doctors had referred to them as) were able to talk to each other telepathically. Thomas refused to ever respond to Allison and Aris (he thinks that's his name) unless they specifically asked him something. Otherwise he just let their telepathic talking become white noise in the background of his mind. 

"Tommy?" Newt said again, sounding slightly concerned.

"Yeah?" Thomas looked up, jolting out of his thoughts.

"You okay?" Newt's eyebrows were drawn together in worry, wrinkling his forehead, "You zoned."

"Yeah sorry... Just thinking..."

"About what's gonna happen today?" Apparently his silence spoke enough for Newt, "You shouldn't. No matter what happens we won't leave you Thomas."

"We?" 

Newt laughed, "You think Minho is gonna leave us alone? Not a chance."

"Good that."

However the weight on Thomas' chest didn't let up. His fingers tapped against his knees. Currently he was sitting cross legged on his hospital bed, some anime playing behind him on mute. The subtitles were on however so if he was paying attention he would be able to understand what was going on. However he wasn't, he was stressing about what could be. And Newt was taking time to try and calm him down. What kind of friend would Thomas be if he didn't at least listen or consider what Newt was actually saying. 

"I found out... There's nobody there for me in Britain," Newt replied, "I'm an orphan. Names Jake Newton Rider."

"Did they just choose all of our middle names for what our names would be in the maze?" Thomas asked softly.

"I asked the doctor about it," Minho said coming into the room, "He said it would be easier to convince us that it was our name if it was, in a way, our actual name."

Thomas gripped Newt's hand, who was sitting next to him now. Finding out that Newt was an orphan was hard on him, but it must have been even harder on Newt. Thomas knew how much everyone, not only Chuck and him, held onto the hope that they had family waiting for them. Learning that you were an orphan must have been a punch in the gut for Newt. The hope that probably was crushed once he heard.

"What's your story?" Thomas asked, scooting back so that Minho could sit at the end of the hospital bed.

"Well, my name is Hisoka Minho Chen," Minho replied, "My family is all the way in Asia. I have three younger siblings, two brothers and a sister. My Mom died and my Dad is a single parent. He doesn't need another kid to pay for."

"Are you sure Minho?" Newt questioned, "I mean... you have a family. You have siblings!'

Minho just gave Newt an unamused look. All of them looked at each other before taking a shaky breath.

"Minho, you don't have to stay..."  
"I want too."

"At least meet them," Thomas told him.

"They can't afford to come."

"Wouldn't the soldiers and government and stuff have to pay for them?" Newt asked looking at Thomas.

"Not necessarily," Thomas replied, not knowing how he knew this, "It's the government, the only reason they care about us this much is because we were 'tested on.'"

Before anyone could comment angrily someone knocked on the door. It was the nurse, Nurse McCall if Thomas remembered correctly. She was the only one that ever attended to Thomas, for a reason no one could understand. She was looking at the scene of the three boys sitting on the bed with a kind of nostalgia on her face, her eyes filled with sadness. 

"Stiles..." she started before Thomas cut her off.

"Thomas," he corrected.

"Thomas," Nurse McCall gave him a sad smile, "Your father is here. He's in the Meeting Room."

Butterflies woke up in Thomas' gut, fluttering around with nervousness. Fear clamped up his lungs, making it difficult to breath easily. His heart stuttered and skipped a beat, sweat forming on his palms. He managed a small nod, Nurse McCall giving him a sympathetic smile before she left. A hand squeezed his shoulders, Newt's he recognized in a distant part of his mind. It took him a few seconds to convince himself to go to the Meeting Room and a few more to actually go inside.

The man sitting there was wearing a uniform, a Sheriff's uniform he noticed reading the badge. He looked weary and exhausted, he was slightly pale (a sickly pale). Some long hidden protective instinct rose up, subconsciously trying to catalog if the man had been taking proper care of himself. An itch appeared in his mind, a memory trying to slot itself into place before it disappeared. This had been happening for a while, especially when Nurse McCall hung around and talked to him. It was beginning to frustrate him to no end.

"Stiles... Thomas," the man automatically corrected himself, "I thought... when no one could find you..."

"I-I'm sorry... I can't remember anything before the Glade..." Thomas muttered, looking anywhere but at the man, his father, the Sheriff.

"It's okay son, Melissa and the doctors assured me that it'll come back over time."

Thomas just had to ask, "Did they find out what took our memories?"

But the Sheriff avoided it, "They also mentioned that you wouldn't be separated from two of your friends, Newt and Minho?"

"Good that. Now what took our memories?!"

The Sheriff shifted slightly, "There's a chip attached to your brain. The doctor's decided it's to much of a risk to remove it from there, but they managed to turn it off. It can't be turned back on again."

"There _IS_ a chip attached to my  _BRAIN_?!" Thomas cried.

"Stiles."

"I'm not Stiles! I'm not!"

In the heat of the moment he punched the wall. The Sheriff flinched and stood from the seat he was in, looking ready to stop him. Thomas gritted his teeth from the pain, but otherwise ignored it. He punched the wall again, and again, and again. The pain seemed to lessen with each punch, his hand going numb. Strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him gently away from the wall. It felt safe in them and slowly, despite telling himself not to let his guard down, found himself relaxing and going limp.  
"Thomas, it's okay. It's okay," the Sheriff repeated, holding him against his chest, "Now let me look at those hands of your son."

Thomas stepped out of the Sheriff's arms, tucking his numb hands in his pocket. Behind him the Sheriff sighed, shaking his head. Maybe it was something he used to do before? Hide his injuries from anyone who cared for him? It was a pretty common thing in the Glade too. If it didn't keep them from doing their job, the Gladers would hide any and all injuries from the Medjacks. The only one who ever seemed to catch Thomas in the act of hiding injuries (despite him only being in the Glade for a few days) was Newt.

"Okay, okay. I won't fight you. But Melissa will notice and she'll force you to let her patch you up," Sheriff Stilinski answered.

"I won't let her. It doesn't affect what I do," Thomas mumbled softly, knowing that Newt would probably patch him up as well as he can.

The Sheriff didn't say anything for a long while. Thomas glanced longingly at the door. Wishing that he could just leave, the atmosphere immensely awkward. His father wanted him to be Stiles, but he wasn't. He's not Stiles, he doesn't remember ever being Stiles. All Thomas wanted was for them to understand that he couldn't ever be Stiles, not anymore. 

"Thomas," the Sheriff cut into his train of thoughts, "We were invited to Charles'... Chuck's funeral. His parents invited all of the kids found in the Maze. Do you want to go?"

A lump appeared in his throat. The last memory of Chuck flashed through his mind. A glint of metal, a body diving in front of him, blood... He shook his head, looking towards the wall to clear it. 

"Y-yeah," Thomas forced himself to swallow again, "I'll go..."

Thomas fled the room before his father could see the tears forming in his eyes. Or notice the guilt he felt for indirectly being the reason Chuck died. Chuck had saved his life, killing himself in the process. He didn't immediately go back to his room. Instead he took the roundabout route, wandering the halls of the hospital. The gruff man, the one that was with the other kids, found him and shook his head slightly.

"Sti- Thomas, what are you doing?" the gruff man asked, cutting him off.

"Do I know you?" Thomas asked looking for a way around the gruff man.

"Once. Derek Hale, nice to meet you again."

"I'm wandering. Can you move now?"

Derek grunted and moved out of Thomas' way. Not all that kindly Thomas stormed away. For some reason Derek followed Thomas until he went back too his room. There Newt was still waiting for him, awake at least. Minho was fast asleep, cuddling Thomas' pillow. Without even looking up, Newt moved over for Thomas to sit next to him. The book he had been reading  _The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe_ was placed next to them. 

"Hands," Newt ordered, raising an eyebrow at Thomas.

"I'm fine," Thomas replied.

"Now."

Completely reluctant, Thomas took his hands out of his pockets. Some dry blood crusted on his knuckles. Silently Newt grabbed some stuff to clean up Thomas' hand, using a washcloth to clean off the blood. Gently he wrapped up Thomas' hands before releasing them. They both stayed quiet for a few more seconds.

"What's going to happen to us?" Newt asked, picking at the blankets.

"I'm not leaving without you... or Minho," Thomas promised.

"Good that."

_***WOLVESANDGLADERS*** _

_*TIME SKIP*TIME SKIP*TIME SKIP*_

**_*WOLVESANDGLADERS*_ **

In his pocket the wooden carving was heavy. The suit was to tight and stifling, sweat forming on the back of his neck and under his armpits. Hair fell into his face, his father had tried to get him to cut it but Thomas refused to go near anyone with scissors. Much less let them get close to his neck with said weapon. His hand clutched the wooden carving, feeling the smooth edges that Chuck had made. The butterflies had returned again, eyes watering as he stared at the coffin that held Chuck.   
Chuck's mother was the only one of his family. Her hair was blonde and curly, the same curly texture that Chuck had. Eyes that were as brown as the soil at the glade, filled with tears as she stared blankly at the coffin. The lump in his throat appeared again as he looked at the plump lady. 

"We can go," Sheriff Stilinski whispered to him.

Thomas didn't bother responding, feeling Newt squeeze his free hand. It helped calm his nerves slightly and the butterflies settled down. It wasn't long after Frypan finished his speech about Chuck, being the only person other than Thomas himself that had a close relationship with Chuck. Afterwards Thomas left Minho and Newt with Clint, going up to Mrs. Harks side. She was Chuck's mother. For a second he wondered what happened to Chuck's father, or if he had any siblings. 

"Mrs. Harks?" Thomas asked softly, his voice catching.

Mrs. Harks looked at Thomas, drying her wet eyes with a handkerchief. 

"Did you know my Charlie?" Mrs. Harks asked.

"I knew him as Chuck," Thomas admitted, relaxing slightly with Mrs. Harks mothering atmosphere, "W-when he died he gave me this..." 

Thomas fingered the carving, drawing it out of his suit pocket. The reaction from Mrs. Harks was instantaneous as her eyes filled with more tears. He panicked a little, as she blew her nose. 

"He told me to give it to you... To his family," Thomas continued, trying to comfort her, "So... here."

Gently, Thomas pressed the carving into her palm. She sobbed softly and clutched the little carving in her hands, before drawing Thomas into an awkward hug. Slowly, but surely, he relaxed into it. Even patted her back comfortingly. After a few seconds she pulled away and stared at the carving. Thomas shuffled his feet before nodding and walking away from her. Minho and Newt were waiting for him outside, Sheriff Stilinski talking with some of the parents of the other Gladers.

"Do we know who Frypan is going with?" Thomas asked.

"Siggy?" Minho smiled a little, "He got his own big family."

"However he lives in a place called Hangtown," Newt added.

"Hangtown? What kinda place is that?" 

"I don't know Tommy. Maybe they hang people." 

Someone walked up behind him. It was the blondish boy, Liam if he remembered right, from the hospital. His eyes were scanning the crowd, nose flared slightly. If Thomas didn't know better, Liam could be smelling the air. The trio; Newt, Thomas, and Minho, glanced at each other in confusion. Was this normal teenage behavior? If it was they decided that they didn't want to be teenagers.

"Scott wants to meet with you," Liam said, looking anywhere but at Thomas (almost as though it physically hurt him too... or maybe mentally), "Derek said it wasn't a good idea. But when does Scott ever agree with Derek?"

A small grin covered Liam's face, before it fell when he saw that Thomas wasn't laughing. Thomas realized that he probably knew Liam from before, as Stiles, and that, whatever he implied when it came to what he said, had been an inside joke between them. There was a kicked puppy look on Liam's face and he rubbed the back of his neck worriedly.

"You don't have to come... but Allison will be there. She promised that it wasn't anything bad... that you might even get your memories back," Liam said softly.

"We'll be there," Newt promised.

"Scott said only..."

"I don't care what your precious Scott said," Minho hissed, "Either Tom gets us as back up or he ain't goin!"

"Good that," Newt added.

"But..."

"Liam, go tell your alpha that I'm coming with Newt and Minho, or no deal," Thomas ground out, wincing as his head released a sharp stab of pain behind his eyes when he said alpha.

Apparently something he said really hit Liam. His eyes widened slightly, before he nodded and ran off. The speed he ran seemed unnatural for a human, but Thomas didn't pay attention. His head pounded and he ground his teeth together, before digging the heels of his hands in his eyes.

"Stile- Thomas?" The Sheriff asked, coming up behind him, "Son you okay?"

The pain receded slightly, as he stopped trying to dig into his memories. 

"Y-yeah, I'm fine. Let's just go."

No one believed him, obviously. But Thomas didn't care. An image had flashed through his mind, the most he had since the Glade. He clutched the memory tight, refusing to think of anything else. Once in the car, a blue beat up jeep that some part of him seemed to really care about, Thomas stole his Dad's sketchpad. The older man looked ready to reprimand him, but once he saw that his son was sketching furiously he didn't mention it. Newt and Minho climbed into the backseat, looking over Thomas' shoulders.

"Whatcha drawing Tommy?" Newt questioned. 

"Nothing," Thomas replied shortly, shading in some parts before continuing on his drawing.

They didn't bother him again. It only took the short drive home for Thomas to finish it. Once in the driveway Thomas had found a red pen and was now using it to color in the eyes. The resulting picture seemed to drain the Sheriff of any color in his skin. In the picture was Derek, Derek Hale. His eyes were glowing a bleeding red and he had animal like features. Side burn ran down his face, slightly overgrown, his teeth were pointed and sharp (much like a wolves) and it looked like he was howling. Sheriff Stilinski took the sketchpad from his son, ignoring his two adopted sons (well, foster but he had technically adopted them) trying to sneak a peek.

"Go to sleep Stiles," Sheriff Stilinski said.

"I'm not Stiles."

"Thomas then. One of the storage rooms got furniture put in it today. Newt, Minho you can fight over who gets it."

Minho ran inside before the sentence was even finished.


	4. Chapter 4

The nightmare started like this:

_His heart was pounding furiously in his chest, the sound echoing throughout the forest. Branches and twigs whipped at him, cutting at his skin. Blood dripped down into his eyes, making it hard to see. Although his vision was blurry already. The ground beneath his feet was uneven, fallen trees, roots, and rocks trying to trip him off. It was dark, the full moon was the only source of light. Shadows danced around him, taunting him and cackling. His breath was short and harsh, that and his heartbeat being the only sound he could hear. A howl broke the otherwise quiet night, causing him to stumble and fall. He rolled down the hill, landing in a heap at the bottom._

_Something flew over his head before landing off to the side. The dark shape loomed over him, Thomas scrambling to move backwards. His red hoodie caught on a thorny branch, making it so that he could no longer move away. It moved closer, raising its arms slowly. Gnarled hands grabbed his hoodie front, forcing him into a standing position. Then his feet left the ground as the mouth opened, rows of fangs appearing inside. Eyes bled red as the mouth closed over his arm._

Thomas woke up screaming. Next to him Newt jerked awake, falling off the bed with a thump. His arm burned where, in his dream, the creature bit him. The scream didn't die out, even as his flailing limbs ceased. It took a bit for Newt to wake up completely and when he did he pulled Thomas off the bed as well. Immediately the screams stopped and Thomas went limp in Newt's arms. He blinked a few times before making a choked noise and gripping Newt's shirt.

"Tommy, you okay?" Newt asked, his breath fluttering across the back of his neck and ruffling his hair.

"Just a nightmare," Thomas whispered softly, burying his face in Newt's neck, "I didn't wake anyone else up did I?"

"No, at least I don't think so."

For a few minutes they just laid there, Thomas breathing gently against Newt. After a few seconds Newt gently tapped his shoulder. Thomas grumbled and sat up, moving off of Newt. 

"What was it about?" Newt asked, getting up and moving back to the bed.

Thomas shook his head softly. There was no way he was talking about the nightmare. It was dumb, it was stupid, and werewolves weren't even real! Newt reached down and pulled Thomas onto the bed. Quietly Thomas leaned against Newt, hugging him close. Their fingers entwined together and Thomas rested his chin on Newt's shoulder. For a few moments they just breathed softly, Newt's breath warming the back of his neck and ruffling his hair. 

Subconsciously Thomas began to trace random symbols onto the bare skin of Newt's stomach. It was only bare because the oversized jersey he was borrowing (they were supposed to go shopping today, but it had gotten postponed due to the funeral) had ridden up exposing his stomach. Despite the odd sensation Newt didn't move, if anything he shifted closer.

"Let's go back to sleep, yeah?" Newt asked, his breath fluttering against his skin.

The hairs on the back of his neck tingled, "Yeah."

But Thomas couldn't sleep. Newt easily managed to drift off, curling onto his side facing Thomas, but his mind wouldn't rest. Whenever he closed his eyes he saw glowing red eyes, claws glinting in the moon light, sharp fangs flashing, and blood dripping off the fangs and nails. Thomas curled into Newt, eyes wide open. Instead he watched Newt sleep, in the non-creepy way. The light from the moon accented his features, shading Newt's cheekbones and showing the bow of his lips. Newt looked peaceful in his sleep, long hair that he refused to let anyone cut fell across his face. Eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks, dark and long. 

His hand entangled itself into Newt's blonde hair. Despite the teasing he gave Newt for looking like a girl, Thomas secretly liked how long Newt's hair was. It was soft, despite the fact they didn't really get any shampoo or conditioner to wash their hair with. Newt moved slightly, pressing his head against Thomas' hand. It was only when Newt settled down again that Thomas released the air he was holding. A small smile crossed his face. If werewolves were real, Newt would be a were-cat. 

Thomas laid his head down on the pillow, watching Newt silently. Without meaning too, his hand ran through Newt's hair a few times. It stopped when he fell asleep, hand still entangled in Newt's hair.

_*******WOLVESANDGLADERS********* _

By the time Thomas woke up the next morning, Minho and Newt were already downstairs. He was dazed and confused, thoughts bouncing around his head rapidly. For a few seconds he just let himself lay in bed and be lazy, but soon he threw off his blankets (somehow he had gotten them all) and went to the bathroom. In the Glade there hadn't been any mirrors, but now that he was out of there he couldn't help but soak in his appearance whenever he could. Newt and Minho seemed to do the same, always embarrassed when they got caught.

This was him. A lithe boy with freckles and a few moles scattered across his face, cupid bow lips, and wide slightly scared whisky brown eyes. Self-conscious he tugged on the messy brown hair, wondering if he could make it less... well messy. There was dirt smudged on his face and a few soon to be scars on his cheek and exposed shoulders. Some point in the night his oversized shirt (which the Sher- Dad had said used to be his) had gone crooked and exposed his shoulder. The shirt was dark and had a picture of a pack of wolves howling at the moon. For some reason it seemed funny too him.

"TOMMY!!" Newt shouted from downstairs, startling the young boy, "YOU BETTER BE UP!!!"

"I'M NOT SAVING YOU ANY PANCAKES SLEEPING BEAUTY!" Minho called.

"YOU BETTER!" Thomas yelled back.

"YA STINK TOO!! TAKE A SHOWER!"

"THAT'S WHAT I'M DOING!"

Thomas rolled his eyes and got no response from either one. There were already towels in the bathroom so Thomas grabbed a pair of boxers, jeans, and a random shirt he found that he prayed would fit properly. Then he returned to the shower and got in. At first he was fine, but then it felt like something was pounding against his mind. Being in so much pain Thomas went to his knees. Water poured down his face as he dug the heels of his hand into his eyes. Images flashed in his head. A gym locker room, dark, water pounding on the tiles. The dead body of a deputy under the stream, wet and dead. But then it changed again. Same gym locker room, this time with Scott. He wasn't dead though, no. Instead he had fangs, glowing eyes. Scott roared at him. Then the person changed again. It was Liam this time. Both Scott and him... no this was Stiles and Thomas wasn't Stiles anymore. They were forcing Liam under the water stream, struggling and roaring. He had fangs and glowing eyes too. Then the whole scene changed. A girl, one Thomas felt he knew intimately but brushed it away, standing under the water stream of a new bathroom completely nude. Thomas dug his nails into his palms, shocking himself out of the memories. The water was suddenly way to cold and he turned the knob abruptly off. His breaths came out in pants, shivering from the cold air.

After a few seconds, Thomas turned back on the spray. Warm water fell onto his head and Thomas quickly cleaned himself before getting out. Blankly he stayed at his reflection in the foggy mirror. Those were memories, but they didn't make sense. None of it was real, there were no werewolves or anything. But then again... a lot of things were supposedly not real. Thomas buried his face in the towel, dripping water onto the ground. All thoughts of food had left his mind now. Quickly he changed, rubbing the towel in his hair until it was only damp.

Some weird feeling returned to Thomas when he sat at the desk chair, almost like this was where he belonged. The computer booted up quickly and soon Thomas lost himself in the research of everything that he had gotten off of the kids he had once known. Website after website and soon Thomas was feeling a sense of deja vu. He wondered if he had done this before, as Stiles, researching all of this. Other than a few kinky websites he found (surprisingly he didn't blush at some of the images he found) everything pointed to the same thing... mythology websites.

"Tommy?" Thomas was ashamed to say that he jumped, "Aren't ya gonna eat?"

"In a minute Newt."

But Newt didn't leave.  Instead he came inside the room and looked over Thomas shoulder. His brows furrowed as he read what Thomas was looking at.

"Why ya looking at werewolves Tommy?"

"I typed in the behavior and weird things that the kids 'round here do... This is what it comes too."

"You're jacked Tommy."

Newt spun the chair Thomas sat on around, forcing the younger male to look at him. An exasperated look crossed Thomas' face as his brown eyes met Newt's. Subconsciously Thomas licked his lips, a nervous habit he guessed. Newt tapped the side of Thomas' head, ignoring the wince he got in return. Then he dropped his hand.

"We're meeting them later. Now go eat Greenie," Newt ordered.

"Yeah, yeah."

_**********WOLVESANDGLADERS*********** _

Once upon a time Allison wouldn't be happy at all to be surrounded by a werewolf pack, especially one so well put together. Now though? She was different then she was before, very different. The pack around her seemed a bit wary though, but not as broken apart as it had been when she was alive. They were tight knit. Liam and Hayden, the two newest supernatural members, were curled into each other at Scott's feet. Scott and Kira were sitting together in the love seat, Kira obviously the alpha's mate (which at one point Allison thought she could have been before she realized that she didn't love Scott like she used too) by the way they were leaning into each other. Scott subtly asserting dominance over her which Kira gladly gave, unlike Allison did when they were dating. Though she didn't think Scott realized what she was doing. Derek was standing next to Scott, on his right side, showing how he was second. This was a place that Stiles used to take, which had gone to Derek when Stiles went missing. Though it was clear that if, when, Stiles regained all his memories would most likely return to him. To Allison's right Danny and Ethan sat with Isaac on the floor next to them. Their position was just as pack, much like Liam and Hayden, but were higher up than Liam and Hayden. Judging by their position compared to that of the pups (Liam and Hayden), they would be most likely to go into battle with Isaac as their backup. Lydia and Parrish were on a love seat to the left of Scott and Kira, Lydia curled into Parrish with her feet resting on Malia's lap. Those three would also be in battle and were on equal footing with Danny and Ethan. And lastly Mason, sitting right next to Allison on the couch. The adults, other than Parrish and Derek, were currently at work. Peter was off doing who knows what.

"They'll be here soon Scott," Allison told him, pushing her hair out of her face.

"How do you know?" Scott asked worriedly, fiddling with the sleeves of Kira's Avenger's sweatshirt.

"I know them, I have faith in them."

Before Scott could say anything else, Derek sat up straighter and stared at the door. It slid open and the three Gladers walked through the door. Stiles, or Thomas as he preferred to go by, was in the middle with Newt and Minho on either side. In his hands there were a stack of printed paper. Thomas was slightly in front of the others and, if he had been a werewolf, Allison would consider him the alpha. They stopped on the outskirts of the others, Thomas throwing the papers onto the table where they spread out. 

"You're werewolves," Thomas said flatly.

They flinched a little.

"Acutally, I'm a banshee," Lydia said matter of factly, "Kira is a kitsune, Malia is a werecoyote, Parrish is a hellhound, Allison is human as far as I know and so is Danny and Mason."

Everyone, including Allison but excluding the Gladers, stared at Lydia with something akin to 'why did you do that?' while Lydia rolled her eyes. The Gladers looked shocked, even Thomas, and stared at Lydia.

"No, you're all jacked," Newt said shaking his head, "Werewolves aren't buggin' real!"

Completely unimpressed with everyone, Malia shifted into her beta form. Instantly Newt and Minho pushed Thomas behind them, getting into a fighting position. Even Allison got up. Scott flashed his eyes at Malia, the same red that had been in Thomas' dream, who returned to normal. Derek raised an eyebrow at the protectiveness of Minho and Newt. They relaxed minutely, but didn't let Thomas stand in front of them again.

"Why did you want to meet with Tommy, Slinthead," Newt directed this at Scott, who furrowed his brows.

Yet Scott didn't seem to understand what it meant. 

"Yeah, I've been wondering that myself,"  Thomas pushed past Newt and Minho, ignoring their warning looks and crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Derek looked impressed, for once letting it show. Some of the werewolves growled quietly at the disrespect from Newt and Thomas, but didn't do much more. A soft sigh escaped Scott as he stood up and forced Liam to move over slightly to avoid getting stepped on. Nails became claws as he came over to Thomas. Minho and Newt tried to tug Thomas back behind them, but Thomas stood firm. The impressed look reappeared on Derek's face as Thomas showed no fear at the alpha werewolf.

"I can bring back your memories. Its something only an alpha werewolf can do," Scott said.

A look of hesitation crossed Thomas' face, "Why do you want to bring them back so bad."

Scott glanced at Derek, some fear glancing across his face. The rest of the pack shifted uncomfortably, looking at their alpha. Allison reached out to Thomas in her mind, but the other boy was forcing her out. Hurt crossed her face and she tried again, trying to get into Thomas' head again. This time she was rebuked harshly, getting forcefully pushed out and getting a glare from Thomas. 

_Stay out of my head._

It was accompanied with a sharp stab of pain. Allison gripped her head in pain.

"We believe that there's another reason why WICKED took you guys. Allison used to be a hunter and Stiles..." Scott trailed off, "Basically two people from a werewolf pack is a coincidence but since Allison had died, we think that there might be a pattern."

"And you need Tommy's memories to get to it?" Newt asked harshly, "Why don't you take either Minho or mine? Or shuck even Teresa?" 

"Good that," Minho agreed.

"I was dead," Allison piped up semi angrily, "My memories are too volatile. And we tried anyways, they kept me in a stasis like thing until I was sent into the maze, they planted fake memories for me."

Newt narrowed his eyes at Allison. She was upset that he had gone back to calling her Teresa, but it seemed that any trust they had gained when Allison told him her past was gone. But then again she had completely avoided anything about the supernatural. She turned away from him. 

"You don't trust me, even subconsciously. Sti- Thomas knew me before and that part of him will let me do this without any side affects, but you can't break the connection or else we'll both die," Scott told them.

That didn't seem to comfort them. If anything it made them even more adamant that Thomas goes no where near any of them. Minho turned to her angrily, fuming quietly. Before he could say anything Thomas put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. Whirling around Minho looked at Thomas.

"I'll do it," Thomas told them, "If there's a pattern we got to know it right?"

"You slinthead," Minho growled, "They could buggin' kill you, ya know that right?"

"I know, but that's only if someone tries to separate us right?" 

Scott nodded, his face solemn. The others relaxed minutely but Thomas wasn't done yet. Despite being forced out of Thomas' head Allison could sense that there was going to be a few conditions (at least one). 

"But, you got to tell me what you were gonna say about me... cause I used to be Stiles," Thomas said.

"Sti... Thomas," Scott looked constipated.  
"That's my condition," Thomas snapped at him.

"Fine," Lydia spoke up, "He deserves to know. Despite him refusing to acknowledge that fact, he was Stiles at some point."

Thomas gave Lydia a respectful nod, which she acknowledged. A hand gripped Thomas' shoulder, squeezing it gently in a show of support. Newt left his hand there however, even when Scott looked ready to refuse to tell him.

"Fine," Scott agreed when the rest of the pack gave him expectant looks, "Before Stiles had something called a spark, it was based on belief. For years Stiles refused to use it unless to make a mountain ash circle. But after a certain event, it grew and he couldn't ignore it anymore. We believe that they took Stiles to use that spark."

While Scott was talking Thomas seemed to shut down, his eyes going out of focus. Eventually he shook it off, slightly pale now. Derek and Newt were looking at him in concern. Thomas seemed to gather himself and he stared at Scott. By now Scott had stopped talking about the spark. The claws were still out and Thomas sat down in an empty chair, looking up at Scott with expectancy. After a moments hesitation Scott sunk his claws into Thomas' neck. Thomas sat up abruptly, tensing with a gasp of shock, before his eyes slid close.

_***********WOLVESANDGLADERS************* _

Thomas felt weightless. The inside of his mind felt safe, like a cloud... a cloud that he wouldn't fall through if he actually sat on it. But then something dragged him down, something weighed him down until he was standing next to Scott. The alpha werewolf wasn't looking at him, instead he was sniffing the air and looking around themselves. Immediately Thomas recognized where he was, the Glade. He looked around the familiar area, smiling at the sight of the Box and the Homestead. Scott however seemed confused.

"What?" Thomas demanded.  
"Where are we?" 

"Welcome to the Glade, Greenie."

Something flickered in his peripheral vision. A dark shape was running into the Maze. Without even thinking about it Thomas ran after the shape. There was a brief shout from Scott before he raced after Thomas. However Thomas ignored him as he raced after the dark shape. It didn't seem to have an actual form, changing constantly, but it always kept a humanoid figure. He skidded around a corner, pushing himself off the wall with his hands. Despite not keeping track of where he was running, he seemed to know exactly where he was. Thomas skidded to a stop in front of a dead end. This wasn't right? This was where Sector 3 was supposed to be. He looked around, noticing that he was enclosed in a box. His breath started coming out in short gasps as he punched the wall.

The walls and roof started moving inwards. Thomas stumbled backwards, his back hitting the other wall. It kept moving forwards and Thomas braced his legs against the other wall. Even with him using all his strength, the walls kept closing in. He strained as hard as he could, sweat beading on his face. The walls kept closing in, his legs bending against the pressure. A gasp escaped his mouth as he fell forwards. He braced himself to hit the wall but instead he hit ground. Leaves and dirt went into his mouth and he spit it out disgusted.

Sitting up he recognized where he was now. Names were written on the wall, even a few new ones. Standing up slowly, Thomas looked around the Deadheads. There was a headstone, made out of wood and forming a cross, with the grave not filled in. He walked over too it and looked in. Shock filled him and he fell onto his butt. The person inside the grave was him. He blinked and found himself staring at the ceiling. Dirt surrounded him, before he was showered with some. Despite all his efforts he couldn't get up.

"Stiles!" Scott roared from somewhere that he couldn't see, "Your spark is fulled by belief!"

"I'm not Stiles!" Thomas shouted back, tears clouding his vision as he tried to escape the grave, dirt filling his mouth as he screamed.

"YES YOU ARE!! Come on Stiles!"

"Stop calling me that!"  
"Dammit Stiles!! REMEMBER!"

And suddenly he wasn't in the grave anymore. Instead he was under water and it was cold, oh so cold. He struggled against the hands that were holding him under. They released him and Thomas surged up. Air filled his lungs as water dripped down his face. Water fell from his eyelashes and he blinked them away, looking around the room. Memories flooded him. This was the vets office, this was where Scott worked for Deaton. His heart pounded in his chest. So much good and so much bad happened here. Thomas got out of the tub, it was filled with water and ice. He looked around and jumped when a voice spoke from behind me.

"Ya know you really shouldn't fight me."

Thomas whirled around in shock. Standing there was him, but not him. The man, boy, was obviously younger. But it wasn't by much, maybe a year or two. His hair was also shorter and while he looked young, his eyes were old. Not as old as Thomas, who had seen more than him. But they were still old. The boy didn't have as many scars either, none were visible at least whereas Thomas had plenty.

"I'm you idiot. Well, I'm the Stiles part of you. I know, weird. Normally this wouldn't be the case but we aren't exactly normal are we?" Stiles said.

"I don't want to be you. I can't be you," Thomas argued, "We've changed to much."

"In that case there would be more of us here, waiting for you. But no, it's just me."

Thomas looked away from Stiles. Why couldn't he just understand? There was no way they could be one. Stiles and Thomas were just too different.

"You know I can hear your thoughts? We are in your... our head. Anyways. If what you were thinking would be true there would be BeforeWerewolves!Stiles and Void!Stiles and so many other Stiles," Stiles said, waving his arms around.

For a second Thomas just stared at... himself? Why couldn't he just be Thomas, why did he have to be Stiles too? This weird, hyperactive, teenage boy who looked like he thought that werewolves and everything else were just big fluffy creatures when really they were hideous terrifying creatures! Stiles glared at Thomas, crossing his arms and looking immensely offended but Thomas just ignored it. There was no way he could do what Stiles wanted him to do. He couldn't become Stiles.

"I'm sorry, but I can't be Stiles! I'm Thomas!!"

"WICKED made us Thomas," Stiles corrected.

"I don't care!" Thomas roared, pushing Stiles against the wall.

Stiles grunted and let Thomas hold him there. Despite how angry he was, Thomas let Stiles drop to the ground. He groaned in pain and stayed there for a few minutes before stumbling onto his feet. Thomas stared down at him unamused as Stiles flailed around.

"You see Stiles. I like being Thomas, I don't see what there is for me being you," Thomas hissed, not caring if he was hurting Stiles(his?) feelings.

"Then you won't care if you look at our memories."

"Your memories."  
Stiles just raised an eyebrow.

"Fine." 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: So I'm having a few issues writing out these memories. Some of them have to change up do to either the ships or to work with the story. The memories I don't write out will be seen by Thomas, but I'm doing the ones that greatly affected Stiles or the ones that Stiles feels will help Thomas choose to meld them together rather than Thomas pull away more.  
> Allison: Let's see how well that will work.  
> Me: Shush. Please be patient, this will most likely start out slow because well... memories are not easy to write well. Especially describing them.  
> Disclaimer -- Some of these memories are my invention, others are what I've seen in Teen Wolf, most will be actual episodes or scenes from the TV show/Book/Movie. I do not even pretend to own them.

The first thing Thomas noticed was how everything seemed subdued. All the sounds sounded like they were having to go through water, the colors felt like they were fading, and everything had a weird filter over it. Almost like everything had to be so, shiny and fuzzy. All the colors seemed to mix together at the edges, creating an almost grainy like quality. But there was a soft edge to it, like it was a good memory instead of one that they wanted to forget. So this was what memories looked like.

_This particular memory had a beautiful dark haired woman, her hair up in a bun with a flowery shawl over it. She was wearing a blue t-shirt that was tucked into faded blue jeans. In her left hand was a mixing bowl, her right hand had a spoon in it. A song, muffled and hard to hear, was pouring out of her lips. Then a little boy, Stiles, ran up behind her with arms flailing before wrapping his tiny arms around his mothers legs._

_"Mama! Mama!!" Little Stiles said happily, "Daddy is gonna be home soon!"_

Even Thomas' own movements felt like he was moving through water. Like he was in a dream with the bad guys chasing him. 

"That's you... our mom?" Thomas asked finally managing to look at the older version of Stiles.

"Yeah, Claudia Stilinski," Stiles agreed quietly, "She was the best."

The world around them shifted, spinning around in circles. While Stiles looked unaffected, Thomas felt sick and had to close his eyes tightly to avoid throwing up. Then Stiles tapped his shoulder and Thomas opened his eyes. This memory had hints of a blue hue to it. The edges were more watery, like a leaking fish tank. And then the feeling of this memory was overwhelming. It suffocated him. Depression. He took a deep breath before releasing it slowly. 

_Stiles was older now, around six or seven. There was a little bucket full of sand in front of him, the bucket was bright red with a sun happy yellow handle. In young Stiles' opinion it was too bright and red just does not go with yellow, especially not that color yellow. Earlier his mama had just laughed it off and patted his back. Now Stiles is sitting in the sandbox and no, it was not a preschooler thing to do. Stiles was proud to say he was a first grader and that made him cool. None of the other kids seemed to understand this though, so Stiles was all alone in the sandbox. But at least his sandcastle was doing amazing. There was even a door that his sand people could go into. And there were even windows! But then a stream of something, urine Stiles nose told them, ruined the castle and caused it too fall down._

_"Scottie!!" Stiles exclaimed unhappily._

_"Oopsie."_

_For some unexplained reason they became the best of friends after that._

"Really? You became friends with him after he peed on your sandcastle?" Thomas asked with a raised eyebrow.

"We became friends with him after he peed on our sandcastle," Stiles corrected.

"No, you did."

Stiles didn't even give him a second glance.

Again the world swirled. Thomas stumbled a little, nearly falling. Once it settled down Thomas immediately tried to figure out what this memory would be about.  It seemed more subdued and repressed then any other memory. There was next to no color here in this memory. And any of the colors were mixes of grays, blacks, and whites. The edges were sharp and broken, the memory itself having cracks and holes. Now that he looked closer, Thomas noticed that there were hints of red fractured among the memories. It was especially close to the middle.

_There was a woman on the bed, their mom. Her dark hair was no longer there anymore, instead the flower shawl was wrapped around her bald head. The red fracturing covered most of her body, making it look like she was bleeding. At first Thomas didn't understand what this memory was about when it dawned on him. This was going to explain why their mom isn't in his life anymore. Little Stiles was sitting on the bed next to her, singing something in Polish. He was drawing in a coloring book._

_Their mom looked at him, no recognition in the subdued brown of her eyes. A hand reached out to him and little Stiles looked over at his mother. There was a small smile on Stiles face as he took his mom's hand. She was so weak that she couldn't squeeze his hand, but Stiles did it for her. The smile never left Stiles' face. Then Stiles let go, going back to his coloring book. Despite not being able to see the colors, Thomas knew subconsciously all the actual colors in the room. The grey flowers were actually pink and red tulips. And the blanket over his mothers lower body is a light blue._

_Then the red line, showing the heartbeat of his mother, slowed down before stopping completely. The screeching beep of the heart monitor pierced the watery veil._

Thomas went to his knees and covered his ears, but yet the ringing sound kept shattering in his head. On his right Stiles shut his eyes tightly, tears dripping down his face. A shaky breath escaped Thomas as he slowly got up. The world hadn't yet changed yet. So he was stuck looking at little Stiles screaming for his mom to wake up. 

"Why are you showing me this?" Thomas demanded.

"Because you need to know," Stiles replied softly.

The world spun again. Memories flooded his mind, his head aching painfully as it did, before they settled on one memory. This memory had an underlying sense of joy, but also a good amount of fear. The memory itself was dark and foreboding. However the edges were pointy, trying to reach into the memory and tear it apart. It was so dark, only the light of his jeep showing anything.

_A bottle was in his hands, a Molotov Cocktail, rang in his head. There was a dark shape behind him and Stiles suddenly turned around.  A squeak escaped his lips and Stiles threw the cocktail. It hit the shape and suddenly flames exploded on the big shape. He stumbled backwards and landed harsh on the ground. The face of the big shape, terrifying and growling, roared as it came out of the flames. Stiles yelled and scrambled backwards as an arrow flew over his head and slammed into the body of the werewolf. The flames died down and Derek flew out of nowhere and forced the alpha down._

_"Derek!" Scott called._

_Stiles looked back at Allison, who runs over and stands next to him. The two watched fearfully as Derek sliced Peter's throat. Scott screamed at Derek uselessly and the now alpha werewolf turned around with red eyes gleaming. Fear struck all of them as they looked at Derek and his mouth opened with fangs gleaming._

_"I'm the alpha now."_

"I don't want to see anymore," Thomas growled at Stiles.  
"You said you'd do it," Stiles replied semi harshly.

"That was before!" 

"Does it matter? You are me, I am you. Nothing is going to change that. You might as well accept it."

Thomas shook his head and looked away. There was no way he could be Stiles, seeing these memories didn't change that. For a second Stiles was silent before the world around them swirled. He was thrown into a new memory this time, feeling sick to his stomach. Years had passed and all the memories returned. This memory was like looking through a foggy window, as though he was seeing it from another point of view. 

_They were in the same loft they met the pack at. People had their weapons out, Chris with his pointing at his and their Dad pointing his at Chris. Allison's was in her hand, she was screaming at her dad but Stiles couldn't hear what they were saying. He couldn't tell who else was there. But he could hear what the Nogitsune was saying. And it was terrifying him. Why couldn't they just shoot him?! Why couldn't they just end it?! But he knew they wouldn't, they cared to much._

_"SHOOT ME!!" The Nogitsune and Stiles shouted, their voices intermingling._

_"Dad don't!" Allison's voice pierced the foggy veil._

_"LET ME OUT!!" Stiles tried to force his voice through the foggy veil, but it only echoed around him._

_Then it went dark. Panic flooded him as the Nogitsune forced his body behind the people that had once been trying to kill him. But now they were protecting him, not trying to kill him. The Oni fought hard for him, but they didn't get too him._

"Why are you showing me this?" Thomas demanded, looking at Stiles.

"They will always fight for you. Even if it kills them," Stiles replied softly.

But he didn't want that. Thomas didn't want them too fight until they killed themselves because of him. Especially since he wasn't Thomas, he's not Thomas. He'll never be Stiles.

Again the world shifted. But this time it seemed too be from two different point of views. One of them was his own, the other was through a foggy window. It was confusing, he didn't know where to watch. A glance at Stiles showed that he was looking through the foggy window, so that was the one Thomas chose too.

_The Nogitsune was still parading around in his body, despite the fact that they had separated. Looking at the group of kids, fighting so hard despite obviously being unable to win this war. Glee from feeding off of their pain and chaos was the only thing that made it all worth it. Then they managed to break the illusion. Anger pulsed out of his body and he stalked towards Lydia and Stiles. The two walked backwards quickly, even as Stiles leaned heavily on Lydia for support._

_"YOU THINK YOU CAN KILL ME!!! I'M A THOUSAND YEARS OLD!!" The Nogitsune screamed._

_"But we can change you!!" Lydia's voice pierced through the foggy veil._

_Then pain, on his arm and elbow. A scream tore through his mouth. Then the foggy window point of view disappeared and they were back at Stiles'. His point of view was so vastly different, with wobbly edges and a dark hue that made it difficult to watch. They watched as a fly flew out of the mouth of the Nogitsune and was caught by Isaac in a jar. The uninhabited body fell to its knees, cracks appearing, before it hit the ground and crumbled to dust. And then there was only darkness._

"Stop!! Stop it! I don't want to watch anymore!" Thomas screamed, leaping through the water like air and tackling Stiles.

The boy grunted and Thomas began to hit him, ignoring how all the pain also appeared on his face as he hit Stiles. Yet he didn't fight back, Stiles didn't fight him. He just took it. Eventually Thomas stopped, a sob tearing through his throat as he released Stiles. Bruises were blossoming on the exact same spots on both of them. Thomas curled up into a small ball on the ground.  
"I'm not you, I can't be you," Thomas gasped out.

"You are, you are me. It doesn't matter if you don't remember, you still need to accept it," Stiles replied, gently touching the bruises on his cheek, "It'll cause a lot of issues if you don't."

"What do you mean?"

In response the world around them spun. Apparently it had been years again as more memories flooded into Thomas' brain. It was so many that he stumbled a little before freezing. This memory was tinged with a sickly yellow, the edges looking like someone had torn at it, and it had a wrinkly quality too it. There were a few holes from where he was looking through, but overall this memory drew fear into his heart.

_"Stiles, Stiles, Stiles," someone said behind him, "Or should I say Thomas?"_

_"I'm not Thomas, I'm not," Stiles whispered, gripping his head._

_"Oh but you are. You're not Stiles anymore Thomas."  
"Who are you?"_

_"WICKED."  
"What do you want?"_

_Stiles couldn't see the person speaking, female most likely. He could only see in front of him, the wall. This wall had images flickering across it occasionally, almost like it was trying to brainwash him. There were things that didn't actually happen there, like him helping this WICKED build a Maze of sorts. Everything was tinged with a sickly yellow, making it hard to see proper colors._

_"Tsk tsk Thomas, you know I can't tell you that."_

_"I'm not Thomas!! "_

_"Oh, but you are."_

_There was something on his eyelids, keeping them open. He couldn't close his eyes and they were beginning to water. Tears were streaking down his face, dripping off his chin onto his lap.  Images flashed across his face, burning into his memory._

_"WHAT DO YOU WANT?!?!" Stiles screamed, struggling against the bonds._

_A hand tangled into his hair, soft and nimble with sharp nails. The touch startled him, jerking his whole body and the chair he was chained too. It gripped his head tightly, forcing him too look at the images more closely. The woman put her cheek against his, blonde white hair obscuring his peripheral vision. A sob escaped his throat as the hand caressed the top of his head. The nails dug into his scalp._

_"The end of all supernatural creatures Thomas. I want you and your friends to end it all. Can you do that for me Thomas?" she purred into his ear, "I think you can."_

_"No, no. You won't get it, I won't let you!" Stiles shouted._

_"You will Thomas. You will. Activate the chip."_

Thomas stopped looking at the memory after that. A scream erupted from the memory Stiles as the chip in his brain was activated. He knew where the chip was and now that area itched. Stiles, the Stiles in his mind, stood next to him silently.

"Please... please don't. No more," Thomas pleaded brokenly. 

"There are no more," Stiles replied, "You have them all. The rest is up to you Thomas."

They were back in the vets now. Somewhere in the distance Scott was screaming at him again. Thomas didn't look up for a long time,  but when he did Stiles was gone. He was back in the Glade again, next to the Homestead. Scott ran up to him, evidently able to get to him again. 

"What happened?"

"Break the connection."  
"Sti- Thomas what?"

"Break the connection!!!"

His eyes opened again, this time back in the loft. Newt and Minho were watching him worriedly as Thomas forced Scott away from him. Every breath he took was short and forced, gripping the armrests. 

"Let's go," Thomas forced out, getting up, "I'm getting this buggin' chip out of my head."  
"It's too dangerous!" Allison immediately spoke up.  
"I don't care!"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: So yeah, angst.  
> Newt: No kidding.  
> Me: Yeah... Umm... plot?  
> Newt: Basically that's it.  
> Me: Shush.  
> Reviews please!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: So, this update seems to be filled with either pointless or really important things... but even the smallest detail can be important so like... pay attention.  
> Thomas/Stiles: I hate this update.  
> Disclaimer -- I NO OWN!! I WILL NEVER OWN!! WHY WOULD YOU THINK THAT!! I WOULDN'T BE BROKE IF I OWNED IT NOW WOULD I?

Maybe, just maybe, Thomas started to realize this was a bad idea. Getting a freakin' chip out of his head that was attached to his shucking BRAIN, when no doctors were willing to do it. Yeah,  _maybe_ it was a bad idea. But he wanted it out,  **NOW!** So he went to the only place that he could think of. And it was only thanks to the Stiles part of him (that no, despite the fact that Stiles had disappeared in his mind did  **NOT** mean that he had accepted it) that he had even considered this. Behind him Newt and Minho were whispering quietly and urgently, acting like Thomas couldn't hear them but really Thomas could and it was starting to grate on his nerves. But he did his best to ignore it. Thomas knew that his reaction seemed really illogical, which on some level it was, but they didn't really know what he had seen.

Their reaction on them turning into the vet's office was too be expected. Confusion covering their face, especially since it looked like there wouldn't be anyone there. And when Thomas turned off the car (it wasn't the jeep sadly, but it would work) questions started to pop up. However Thomas completely ignored them, they would find out why they were here later. And he'd rather have to deal with their... anger after the fact rather than before. Basically ask forgiveness rather than permission. And, despite Minho constantly trying to act like that, he was not his mother (Minho was in no way acting like a father, nope, not at all. He had taken the motherly role and he was going to deal with it) so Thomas did not need (or even felt in anyway inclined) to ask Minho (or Newt for that matter. Motherhens, the both of them) for permission. And wow that was a lot of parentheses. 

"What are we doin' here Tommy?" Newt asked, getting out of the car after Thomas.

As an answer Thomas just opened the door and walked in. Almost immediately the memory of what happened in his head popped up, but Thomas repressed it and continued in. There was only one person there, a girl with semi curly (it wasn't exactly wavy but it wasn't exactly curly either) brown hair with one part shaved off who seemed to be holding a fox in her arms. Deaton was giving her a prescription when he noticed Thomas and the others. The girl seemed to notice them at the same time and gave a small smile before taking the prescription and leaving. However, when she looked at him Thomas felt an unusual sense of foreboding stir in his gut. Was he being paranoid? Quite possibly. Was he going to be wary about her? Definitely. 

"What can I do for you Stiles?" Deaton asked, looking unperturbed as he put away the equipment he had used.

"It's Thomas now," Thomas replied automatically.

Deaton just gave him a knowing look and turning away. For once the look didn't make him uncomfortable or feel like he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. However Minho and Newt shifted uncomfortably behind him. Newt coughed uncomfortably into his elbow. 

"Did you come here for a reason Thomas?" Deaton questioned.

"Yeah, why are we here?" Minho asked, looking at Thomas.

"I need you to get a chip off of my brain," Thomas replied seriously.

"WHAT?!" Newt and Minho exploded behind him.

Thomas refused to look back at them. In his mind he could imagine it. A red faced Minho, dark eyes glittering dangerously as he thought of possible ways to screw his head on right. And then there was Newt. He would be slightly pale, freckles standing out more than they usually did. A bunch of emotions, most unreadable to anyone who didn't know him well (but Thomas could read Newt like an open book), would be flitting through his brown eyes. Lips would be drawn down in a stiff frown.

It seems however, that Newt wouldn't let him get away without forcing him to look at them. A tight grip forced him to turn around. The hand on his arm didn't release its grip, even when he finally looked at Newt. Emotion filled brown eyes searched his face, looking for any sign that he wasn't completely positive he wanted this. They looked exactly how he expected them too, but Thomas refused to waver. His tongue darted out and licked what felt like incredibly dry lips. 

"I need to get it out Newt," Thomas said softly.

Newt's eyes met his, searching them for anything. And, when it seemed he couldn't find anything, Newt stepped back with a small nod.

"I feel the need to remind you that I am a vet Thomas, not a brain surgeon," Deaton added, "And there is no need for me to get rid of the chip. Your spark wouldn't let it work."

"But it did. It worked!"

"Then you must have let it." 

Thomas stepped back as though burnt. Behind him he could feel the confusion radiating off of the others. What did that mean? Why would his spark  _let_ the chip erase his memories, keep the memories from returning, and whatever else it shucking does!!! 

"How would you know?" Thomas asked through gritted teeth, fists clenched tightly at his side.

"Your spark works on belief Thomas. It's immensely powerful but also extremely hard to control. If you believe the chip won't work, it won't work. But your spark is more than that. It is there to protect you," Deaton answered, surprisingly less cryptic than normal, "If it sensed a threat it wouldn't allow that to work. That chip would only work if you overpowered your spark to allow it."

A hand touched his arm gently, "Tommy... you're sparking."

"Anchor yourself Thomas."

Thomas forced his arm out of Newt's grip. There was a second that he allowed himself to still be angry, before taking a sharp breath and letting it out. His hands were still sparking, looking like fire sparks, before they slowly disappeared. While his chest was still heaving, Thomas felt somewhat calmer. The fist slowly uncurled and exposed calloused hands. For a second he allowed himself to just stare at them quietly, before looking up at Deaton.

"You can't do anything?" Thomas asked quietly.

"I'm sorry," Deaton replied.

Completely disappointed, Thomas gently patted Newt and Minho's shoulders before leaving the Vet's. Placing his hands on the hood of the car he was using (it was his Dad's car, the one he used when he wasn't in the cruiser) and stared blankly at his reflection in the silvery surface of the car. A hand was placed on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. 

"What the shuck was that Thomas?!" Minho hissed at him, hitting the back of Thomas' head.

"That was me trying not to be controlled!" Thomas shouted back, turning around to stare at Minho.

"Did ya ever think that maybe, just maybe Thomas, that WICKED can't get to us here?!"

"I got my memories back Minho!! This chip," Thomas pointed to the back of his head where the chip was lodged into his brain, "can control us!! It takes away your free will! Your memories can get stolen from you! They can change them! I want this shucking thing out of my head!!!" 

Minho's face was red and flushed with anger. Eyes were glittering with repressed anger, his fists balled by his sides. All this did was fuel Thomas' own anger, sparks flying off of his hands again. 

"That's not the point Thomas," Minho hissed.

"But it is Minho!! That's the whole point! They can control us! There is no way that I'm letting myself get controlled!!" Thomas shouted.

"STOP IT! BOTH OF YOU!!" Newt yelled, getting between them, "Fighting isn't going to solve anything. I don't even know what you're fighting about! Yes Thomas should have warned us that he planned on having a vet perform brain surgery on you. But it didn't happen."

Thomas looked away as Minho stormed into the back of the car. Flinching as the car door slammed, Thomas looked towards Newt. But the boy didn't give him a second glance. Instead he followed Minho into the car. Thomas took a few seconds to control himself, before getting into the car and starting it. The car was filled with tense silence. However Thomas was completely thankful that he had the road to focus on. It was foggy and Thomas opened a window and looked out it, trying to see better and hear any noise. It was eerily quiet though. A dark shape showed up on the headlights and Thomas slammed on the breaks. The wheels hit something slippery and he spun out of control. Trees and plants and other things blurred together in a mix of color and sounds. Someone was screaming, actually it was probably all three of them screaming. Then suddenly they were forced to a stop. His head hit the side hard, blood dribbling into his eyes. 

Footsteps crunched against the leaves as someone came close to the door. Thomas blinked blood out of his eyes. Eyelids tried to close, but he forced them too stay open. A woman came into his line of sight. He blinked a few times, forcing the blood out of his eyes. It was the same girl from Deaton's place. The fox was walking next to her, the tail waving lazily behind it. Her eyes, a light brown, locked onto Stiles. A smile crossed her face, stretching the scar that he hadn't noticed before on her cheek, and she ruffled the brown curls with nimble hands.

"Hello again Thomas."

_***********WOLVESANDGLADERS************ _

 For once in his life Scott was scared. After Stiles (no matter what he said, he would always be Stiles to him) had left announcing that he was getting the chip out of his brain, everyone had been in an uproar. Liam was looking at Scott for answers, which he didn't have. Allison was being forcefully held down by Lydia, as she wanted to go after Stiles and knock some sense into him. The others were all shouting at each other and at Scott. All except for Derek. As always Derek was completely silent.

"STOP!" Scott roared.

Immediately everyone went quiet.

"We can't do anything..." Scott whispered, "He's not... He's not the Stiles we know."

"What did you see Scott?" Kira asked gently, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"He called it the Glade. It was a green place with a few buildings surrounded by huge walls. Then he took off... Into the Maze. I followed him for a bit, but I couldn't keep up. The Maze, I didn't know this place and Stiles did. We got separated, a wall suddenly closing behind Stiles. I cried out for him, Stiles had started to scream. He didn't remember so I reminded him, I told him that his spark was based off of belief. And then his cries came from somewhere else, so I ran there. But then there was nothing. I heard nothing. And I panicked, but then he found me and we left his mind."

It was absolute silence. The only sound was of hearts beating and their own breathing. No one said anything, for what seemed like hours but was only minutes. It was hard, hard to hear that even his own mind wasn't the Stiles they knew anymore. It was only a few minutes later that anyone said anything and again that someone was Scott.

"He's not Stiles anymore."

"Of course he's not. What he went through would change anyone Scott," Derek replied tersely.

"There's nothing left of him."

"His mind was wiped," Allison spoke up, "Both of ours were. The memories he regained, while some were real most weren't."

None of this comforted Scott. He wanted his best friend back, as selfish as it was. Months, no years, had passed since he last saw Stiles. Even Derek had searched for Stiles, using his contacts in Google named Lyle. A handful of them went there to talk to him and his Team and at first thought they had found Stiles, but it was really one of Lyle's team members named Stuart. The group did all they could, hacking high up companies. When they got nothing they promised to keep an eye out for any sign of him. It was actually due to them that they found the Maze and the kids in it, a facial recognition that was in all the big name companies and even the lower ones (basically scanning anything they could think of plus a few more) found Stiles in WICKED. A plan was made and they called in the police to get some legal backing. Hopefully WICKED was shut down. They had put everyone in jail that was still alive, even checking the dead to make sure they were actually dead.

"But he knows us!"

"Knew us Scott, there's a difference," Jordan added.

Scott's phone rang, breaking the silence. Everyone jumped in shock, before turning to look at it. Reaching into his pocket, Scott pulled out his phone. Confusion flitted across his face as he looked at the caller id, Stiles. All of them noticed this and looked at Scott, begging him to answer it.   
"Hello?"

"Scott, is it?" a feminine voice asked on the other end.  
"Who is this? How do you have Stiles' phone?"

"His name is Thomas. You would do well to remember that Scott."

"WHO ARE YOU?!" Scott roared.

"Tsk, tsk Scott. Is that any way to talk to someone who has your friends lives in their hands."

Everyone froze, fear crossing their faces. For once, Derek looked scared for someone's life. Just once, would Stiles not get in trouble.

"W-what?" Liam breathed out.

"You heard me. Surrender your pack to me or loose the Gladers, including Teresa. Meet me at the Beacon Hills sign at three. This is your only chance."

Then there was nothing but dial tone. His phone slipped from his hand, landing on the floor with a loud clatter. Everyone was frozen, no one knew what to do. They were supposed to be safe here. All the Gladers were. Allison was pale, dark unruly hair contrasting with her skin in a beautiful but deadly way. Her fingers were clutching the chair tightly, knuckles white. Everyone looked at each other, looking for someone to give them something to do. ANYTHING!

_**********WOLVESANDGLADERS*********** _

At one time, she wouldn't have had to do all the dirty work. But now, she had no minions. Even her mentor had minions to get their hands dirty, she never had to. Chancellor Paige had it so easy compared to her. But she didn't, she actually had to get her hands dirty. A disgusted look was sent at the unconscious boys. The only upside was she had all the technology she needed, especially to control the chips. With one single push of a button, all the Gladers would be under her command. Sadly, not the dead ones. Once they died the connection was broken, for good. Not even another implant could let her control the dead.

She cracked her neck, grinning widely. No one could stop her now. Not without hurting their friends. The gun spun in her hands. It would be nice to be able shoot them right now, but if there was one thing Chancellor Paige had taught her was to not loose leverage. So instead she shot Minho in the leg. Might as well take out his best asset. A scream tore from Minho's lips, Thomas struggling in order to get too Minho while Newt flinched in sympathy. Blood dripped down from the bullet hole, wetting his pants and staining them with his own blood.

"What the bloody shuck did you do that for?" Newt screamed at her.

"He can't run now," a smirk covered her face, "Who's next?"

Immediately Thomas knew it would be him, fear covering his face as he clammed up. The gun aimed at Thomas warningly. Minho breathed heavily and painfully, chest heaving as he tried to move his leg. Pain exploded, especially where the bullet hit him in the leg. Tears gathered in the corner of Minho's eyes and he stubbornly refused to let them fall.

"You're a sadist," Minho hissed through the pain, looking at her with pure hate in his eyes, "Do you hear me?!"

"I hear you, I just don't care," she replied.  
"Who the buggerin' shuck are you?" Thomas asked.

"I am the protegee of Chancellor Paige. Her most promising!"

"You're name," Newt reminded her, "Or do you not have one."

Anger flooded her veins, fueling her actions. The gun was pointed at Thomas and Newt's eyes immediately teared up, fear filling them. Her hand never wavered, even as her finger teased the trigger. Never squeezing hard enough to actually cause the gun to fire. 

"Please, please don't," Newt begged.

The gun fired, hitting next to Thomas' face. Tears squeezed out of the eyes of Thomas, even as relief filled him with the knowledge that he hadn't been hit. Newt sobbed with relief, head falling to his chest. The gun was put in its holster again, her still staring firmly at Newt. Tears of relief were streaming down his face, a sob escaping. Thomas was shaking, looking unable to control it. A fierce gleam was still in her eyes, even though the gun wasn't out she still looked ready to shoot someone again.

"I'm Lilith."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: *ducks tomatoes and hides behind Scott* I SOWWY!!  
> Scott: You're on your own. *flees*  
> Me: *hides behind the boxes* Don't kill me!!!  
> Reviews are nice and I would like them. As always flames will fuel the fire that burned Derek's family and made Peter more insane then he already was.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Hey guys! Long time... not really. Anyways, I was wondering if any of you wanted a one shot (or maybe two shot) on the talk with the Google Team that helped find Stiles? And maybe them meeting Stiles (I think Stuart and Stiles meeting would be kinda funny honestly (and Newt and Minho)... maybe funnier if they were like twins or something... *nibbles cookie innocently* plot bunny. If any of you have seen the Internship that's the team I'm talking about! Anyways, new update.  
> Scott: She's cleaning off the tomatoes still.  
> Me: Am not!  
> Scott: Am too!  
> Disclaimer Here -- I own... nothing... except Lilith...

Everyone was talking at once, but Scott needed silence right now. He needed to be able to think. There had to be some way that he could manage this. Some way that they could all get through this. Alive! Despite barely knowing them, Scott already considered the Gladers (especially Newt and Minho) to be under his protection. Newt and Minho he already considered part of his pack. So, as Alpha, he needed to keep them safe. If only he knew who had taken them, but he didn't. The woman didn't give them much to go off of. Fear, filling every cell and nerve in his body. 

"SHUT UP!" 

The only reason they went quiet was because of the shock. Never, NEVER, has Scott ever shouted at them. It just wasn't something he does. Even Scott looked shocked at his sudden shout. But he took advantage of the absolute silence of the pack.

"Fighting isn't going to help Stiles and his friends. We need to make a plan," Scott said.

"A plan?" Ethan asked disbelievingly, "How well have those worked for us?"

"Especially without Stiles," Lydia added.

Scott just glared at them. Eventually he turned to look at Parrish, who was playing with Lydia's hair. A braid was starting to form underneath his hands. Whether or not he was listening was another story,  but judging by the carefully controlled look on his face he definitely had been listening. 

"What do you think Jordan?" Scott demanded.

"We need at least some sort of plan. Going in without one is not a good idea," Jordan said, looking up from Lydia's hair.

"Agreed," Derek grunted. 

And so they drew up a plan. Most of the pack will be in the woods, but enough would stay with Scott to bring the illusion of actually surrendering his pack. The part of the pack to stay with Scott would be Kira, Malia, Liam, Hayden, Mason, Allison, and Lydia. Everyone else would be scattered in the woods, a signal from Scott would let Derek know that it was time to attack. Lydia, Mason, and Danny would go and get Minho, Newt, and Stiles. Liam and Hayden were to keep whoever tried to attack Lydia, Mason, and Danny off of their backs. Jordan would keep anyone from stumbling across them during the fight. Based off of everything they know from WICKED, they'd probably be an army. 

They were wrong.

What was worse? Minho, Newt, and Thomas weren't even there. But they could smell blood. It was either Newt or Minho's but they couldn't distinguish the scent. The woman had a weird scent on her, one that they had never smelt before. And, she was alone other than the fox curled up by her feet. Confusion crossed Scott's face, before anger surged up. 

"This wasn't the deal?! Where are they?!" Scott demanded.

A hand was put on his shoulder, Kira's. She stepped up next to him, hand twitching towards her belt. The rest of the group came closer, creating a semi-circle behind Scott and Kira. The girl laughed, throwing her head back. A smirk appeared on her face, eyes glittering with hidden insanity. 

"Oh, isn't this fun. You see Scotty, I knew you wouldn't keep your end of the bargain. So they're not here. You won't find them in time. Not before Minho bleeds out," she said.

The fox at her feet looked up, barring its teeth and snarling. She crouched down slowly, petting the top of the foxes head. All of the pack, even those hidden in the woods, watched this motion tensely. Allison's hand twitched to where her knife was hidden, even as she watched the woman just pet the fox. This whole time the woman's heartbeat never skipped or went any faster than normal. Panic started to settle. Unless she had amazingly good control over her heartbeat, she wasn't lying.

"Who the hell are you?" Mason demanded.

"Me? I'm Lillith."

_**********WOLVESANDGLADERS********** _

His own panic was starting to grow. Beacon Hills was supposed to be safe, they were supposed to be safe here. But they weren't, Minho had been shot in the leg (his shucking leg), Newt looked ready to break down, and Thomas himself was already shaking with repressed fear and panic. Actually, Thomas himself was ready to break down. Minho could bleed out any second, Newt and himself could die of hypothermia. It was already getting colder, despite it only being a little after three. None of them knew why Lilith had left so suddenly and the only reason they knew it was three was because of Thomas and Newt's internal clock. A quick glance at Minho showed that he wasn't getting better. The blood had began to stain his lower jeans.

Thomas pressed his head against the tree he was tied too. For once he wanted to use this 'spark' they had told him he had. In his memories it seemed so easy for Stiles to grab the spark, but it was beyond difficult for Thomas to get too it. If anything, the spark seemed to shy away from him. Frustration built in his body, running through his veins. Angrily, Thomas slammed his head against the tree. Why had it been so easy for Stiles to do? Despite all his arguments otherwise, Thomas knew that he was Stiles. They were the same person, so it should be as easy for him to do it as it had been for Stiles... right? 

"Whatcha doing Tommy?" Newt called over from his tree a bit to the right.

"Trying to get us outta here," Thomas replied. 

"How's that working out for you?"

"Shut up shuckface."

"Minho...? MINHO?!"

There was no answer from their fellow friend. Peering over Newt to look at Minho, Thomas didn't like what he saw. Minho had his head down on his chest, breathing shallowly, and the blood was starting to pool around his feet. And there was the smell of rain in the air (don't ask how he knew that, he just did). If it began to rain then it would be even worse for Minho. Desperation clawed at his insides, even as Newt screamed hoarsely at the limp form of their friend. Fine, he admitted it. He was Stiles! No matter what he did, he would always be Stiles. Stiles was him, he was Stiles.

Almost like it was waiting for that, for him to admit or acknowledge the fact that he was Stiles, the spark inside him welled up happily. Warmth swept through his body, filling him from the inside out. It spread through his bones and brought a tingle to his fingers. The ropes snapped, falling loosely onto the ground. That was when it started to rain. Droplets fell onto his face, soaking through his clothes. Hurriedly Thomas brushed the rope off of him and scrambled to his feet against the muddy ground. He ignored the wide eyed look Newt gave him.

"Minho. Minho hey wake up," Thomas gently slapped his friends cheek, "Come on now."

But Minho didn't stir. Now completely filled with worry, Thomas untied the rope holding Minho to the tree. Immediately his friend fell forward against him. A grunt escaped Thomas and he lifted Minho up, slipping on the mud slightly. Then Thomas moved to Newt, kneeling down beside the older boy. He completely ignored the way that Newt was screaming at him, telling Thomas to leave him behind. Once the ropes were untied and undone Thomas stood up, ignoring the way Newt glared at him.

"Why didn't you leave me?!" Newt roared at him as they lifted Minho up, throwing the boy's arms over their shoulders.

"I'm not leaving you!" Thomas shouted back over Minho's head.

"Well you should have shuckface!"

"Stop it Newt. I-I can't loose you!"

That shut Newt up for the whole trek out of the woods. At one point they thought they were lost, not that Thomas would ever admit it. But once Thomas found the Hale house, they managed to get to the road. For once there was no one driving either way. They wouldn't make it to the hospital in time for Minho. A shaky sob escaped Newt's mouth and he tightened his grip on Minho, ignoring how Thomas looked ready to collapse. They were weak. They were tired. And all they wanted to do was collapse. But they continued on, for Minho's sake. 

"Tommy...?" Newt's voice was small.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think we'll make it in time for Minho?"

Thomas bit his lip. While he didn't want to lie to Newt, he didn't want to break his hope either. But apparently this was all the confirmation Newt needed as he glanced at Minho before looking away. Even though Newt was obviously trying to hide it, a noise escaped him. This noise sounded like he had lost all hope and completely gave up. Trying to give Newt a smile didn't work, it ended up more like a grimace.

"Come on, we've gotta try don't we?" Thomas asked.

"Y-yeah, let's go," Newt said.

 So they trudged on. They were a few miles away from the hospital still when Newt fell to the ground. Thomas stumbled at the sudden weight of having only Minho before he looked down at Newt. The other boy was sitting in a puddle of rain, panting softly. His face was flushed, possibly with a fever. Worry filled Thomas' body, kneeling down next to Newt. After a quick look around, seeing nothing other then a stretch of road and rain, Thomas gently pushed Newt's long blonde hair out of his face. 

"You okay?"

"No... Tommy, Minho's gonna die and we can't do anything about it," Newt said looking up at him.

Thomas hefted Minho's limp body over his shoulder, ignoring how he was staining his clothes with Minho's blood. There was a small flicker in Newt's eyes, looking towards Minho's limp body. Biting his lip, Thomas reached over to Newt and put a hand under Newt's jaw. Some hesitation crossed his face, even as he leaned forward slightly. Newt glanced over at Thomas before looking away. 

"Hey, look at me?" Thomas asked gently, thumb running over Newt's cheek and jaw.

Newt hesitantly looked up at Thomas, eyes damp with tears. But he couldn't tell if it was the rain or actual tears sliding down his face. A shaky breath came out of Newt, who looked at Thomas with hopelessness. 

"We've got this okay. We can get him help. Trust me," Thomas whispered.

"I trust you..." Newt whispered.

Thomas licked his lip, glancing down at Newt's. This wasn't the time though, Minho needed their help. Hesitantly, Thomas stood up even though he was hunched over due to Minho being on his back. Newt scrambled to his feet, ignoring how wet he was now. The duo walked towards the hospital, despite knowing they wouldn't get there in time. An angry howl broke through the veil of silence, shattering it completely. Hope welled up in Thomas' chest and he screamed back.

"HELP!!"

A smile broke his face as he heard an answering howl. They were saved.

_**********WOLVESANDGLADERS********** _

Lilith's smirk set Scott on edge. It was clear she didn't expect them too find Stiles or his friends. An agonizing howl escaped his lips before they attacked Lilith. Her eyes widened in shock and she pushed out her arms. The fox snarled and leaped at them, but was knocked aside by Liam. Lilith pulled out a knife and waved it at them. An unamused look crossed Scott's face before he heard something... someone. Stiles. He heard Derek howl back in response before the other half of his pack takes off in the direction that Stiles shouted from. Anger crossed Lilith's face.

"NO!"

A hand reached into a pocket, Lilith's hand into her pocket, and she pulled out what looked to be a pen with a red button on top. Fear filled Scott as he leaped at her. But it was Allison that managed to keep Lilith from hitting it. An arrow was released and embedded itself into Lilith's wrist. She screamed in pain and dropped the pen, which Kira cut in half with her sword. Blood squirted from the wound in Lilith's wrist, more pouring down her arm and dripping onto the wet ground. It had started to rain at some point, though Scott didn't know how he hadn't noticed.

"You can't ruin this for me! YOU CAN'T!" Lilith screamed, trying to yank the arrow at of her arm and succeeding after a few moments. 

A big glob of blood ran down her arm and dripped onto the ground. Then blood started to stream out of the wound. Fuming angrily she looked at the werewolves and humans in their company, it was then that Scott realized that despite the look of it... they were still at her mercy. It wouldn't be until they had gotten Stiles and the others into safety that they would have the upper hand. 

"You'll find we already have," a gruff voice replied.

Without having too look Scott knew that Derek was by their side. But he had too look anyways. He had to see with his own eyes that Stiles was fine. However what he saw, it was not what he wanted to see. Ethan had Minho in his arms, the male bleeding steadily from a wound in his leg. Fear surged up but Ethan gave him a reassuring look. Black veins were running up the former alpha's arms. Standing together on the other side of Ethan was a flushed Newt (flushed with fever if the smell wafting off of him was any indication) and a worried Stiles. He could tell that by how Stiles was constantly moving his hands along Newt's body, his fingers tapping the random spots he found. 

"You okay?" Scott mouthed at Stiles, who didn't seem to notice.

"Lilith," Newt greeted tightly, "I see you got hit."

Lilith was getting pale from blood loss. But Scott couldn't find himself to feel anything towards that, he was just numb. By this point the girl was starting to stagger on her feet. Normally Scott would help her, take her to the hospital. But for once, it was Stiles that did anything. Despite Newt calling towards him, trying to get him back to his side, Stiles tore off part of his wet shirt and tied a tourniquet around Lilith's arm. The blood slowed down, it didn't stop but it was no longer pouring out of the wound.

"We need to get to the hospital, now," Stiles said turning to the others.

"Stiles," Scott replied softly.

"No Scott, we need to go now! I don't care!"

Ethan was already ahead of them, running to the hospital less than a mile away, Minho in his arms. With a glare that could make Deucalion  cower, Stiles lifted Lilith onto his shoulders. Scott was shocked beyond words. The shock grew when Derek went over and took Lilith from Stiles, giving the once missing boy a tight nod, before he ran after Ethan. That was when Newt collapsed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: So, one chapter left guys!! It won't be updated until the week after next though cause I don't have a computer at my Dad's that I can use.   
> Newt: She's not joking.  
> Me: I'm not. I swear. So should I do a one shot (or two shot) on the talk with the Google Team that helped Stiles (aka Team Lyle from internship) as well as them maybe meeting Stiles? (that would be if I did a two shot though)  
> Reviews: Does anyone read the Notes? Like seriously it feels like I'm talking to a brick wall.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: *cries softly* It's over. This is the last chapter. But I might make a one-shot or two-shot with the scenes from Google.  
> Thomas: Bookworm here is still freaking out over Now You See Me 2 and highly recommends it to you. Butterscotch?  
> Me: *gives Thomas butterscotch*  
> Disclaimer -- I'm currently watching the end of Now You See Me and plotting fanfictions in my head so be on the lookout for that...

Somehow, deep down, Thomas knew that Lilith wouldn't make it. And still, it hurt. He couldn't understand why it would though. Why it hurt so much knowing that the one person, the one person that he should probably hate as much if not more than WICKED, was dead. It just, it didn't make sense. And, no one really understood either. Scott, for once in his life, had seemed so relieved that she was dead. And, as much as Thomas knew deep down that he should feel the same way, he just couldn't feel relief that he was dead. Much less any sense of glee. 

It seemed like Thomas was the only one who knew that, at one point, Lilith had been brainwashed. Just like the rest of the Gladers in that sense. She was still a kid, like the rest of them. And seeing her laying there, pale and cold, tugged something in Thomas' heart. Somehow, he just... felt for her. At the same time he was angry at her, furious even. She had hurt his friends, his pack! 

"Tommy?" Newt asked, gently laying a hand on his shoulder.

Currently Thomas was standing in front of the morgue, where Lilith lay. Her dark brown hair was splayed behind her in a halo, the shaved part covered slightly with some of her semi-curled hair. Eyes were closed, dark eyelashes fanning across white cheeks. She was covered with a white sheet, showing just how pale and dead she was. Laying silently on Lilith's pale chest was the fox, white tail with a black tip curled around its small body. The sight of the fox always set Stiles on edge, but there wasn't much he could do about it.

"Come on," Newt quietly led him away.  

"She was just a kid Newt," Thomas said softly to him.

"I know Tommy, but she also tried to kill us."

"She was still a kid."

Newt entangled his hand with Thomas, squeezing it gently. During the whole walk, where Newt was leading him Thomas didn't know, they were silent. It wasn't like one of those uncomfortable silences though, it was surprisingly comfortable. There was time for Thomas to sort out his thoughts, to remember that Lilith wasn't really anyone to him. Other than a complete stranger who tried to kill him. This he knew, he knew this he really did. But it was hard to remember most of the time. So many people had already died, she was just another one.

"Minho's okay. He's awake now. It's bloody annoying though, he's high on drugs," Newt started talking to fill the silence.

"At least he's awake," Thomas agreed, running a hand through his unruly brown hair.

And then they lapsed into silence again. It reminded them of the Glade. When they would sit together under the big tree by the Homestead, Thomas tearing leaves apart while Newt stared into the distance. Thomas was always leaning against Newt, his head resting on his chest while his legs were straight in front of him. This was comfortable for them, a way for them to relax after a long day. It wasn't strange for Newt to occasionally talk about something or another. For example how the crops are going. Once they left the Glade, it seemed different and they never seemed to get time alone. Someone was always there (usually Minho). And now it just didn't seem to be the right time.

"Do you... Do you ever wish we were back in the Glade?" Newt broached hesitantly.

Thomas was silent for a bit, looking at his shoes, "Yeah. Sometimes. Everything seemed so much simpler then. I mean, shuck, we only had three rules."  
"And you broke all of them."

Newt gave him an unimpressed look. It was ignored by Thomas, however, instead to look at Minho in the hospital room. The door was open, some sort of rule the hospital had, and Minho was propped up. Relief flooded Thomas at the sight of his friend. Things, they would be alright.

**_Epilogue Thingy_  
**

_*One Year Later*_

A year had passed. Minho was now on two feet, running on the cross country team at the school. No one has beaten his time and he broke a state record. Thomas had gotten used to being called Stiles and now responded to it just as much as he had with Thomas. But to those that knew him from the Maze, he was still Thomas. And Newt, well Newt turned out to be an amazing artist. Winning blue ribbons left and right. There was also a garden, in the backyard, that only Newt ever tended to. Now there was fresh fruits and vegetable for the Sheriff's diet. Chuck's mother came over once every month, visiting and telling the trio about Chuck when he was younger. Allison (or Teresa as the Gladers had known her) was back to doing archery and hanging out with the pack. The rest of the Gladers, they came together every couple of months for a get together. They caught up on events happening since they left. 

"Tommy!" Newt called, sitting under the tree in the Stilinski's backyard with a sketch book in hand.

No one was allowed to look at Newt's personal sketch book, not even Thomas. Even though he was curious, Thomas had decided to respect Newt's privacy and didn't even take a peek at the inside. 

"What?" Thomas asked.

The sight of Newt sitting under the tree made Thomas smile. His ever growing hair (he wouldn't go to the hairdresser and Thomas wasn't a hairstylist) fell into his glittering brown eyes. A few loose wayward strands fell across his nose. Even though earlier Newt had pulled it into a pony tail, it had already gotten loose. A pencil was sitting behind his ear, the sharp point pointing towards Thomas. The sketchbook was sitting on his knees loosely, which had been put at an angle so that Newt could draw better.

"Are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna sit with me ya shank?" Newt asked, patting a grassy place next to him.

"Maybe I was admiring the view shuckface," Thomas replied.

"Well sit down."

And so he did. Jokingly Thomas tried to sneak a peek of the drawing, but Newt hid it and hit Thomas in the head with his sketchbook. With a not completely fake pout, Thomas looked at Newt like a kicked puppy. His fellow friend just smiled slightly and started to draw again. They sat there, much like they had done in the Glade before, with Thomas tearing apart leaves and Newt sitting there silently. Except this time, Thomas was leaning against Newt with his back against his side and Newt was sketching next to him. A few minutes later Thomas drifted off, his head lolling onto Newt's lap. This is the sight that Minho and the Sheriff came too later, before leaving them quietly.

_*Two Years After Lilith's Death*'_

It was time for another Glader meeting. This one would be the last one for a while, something everyone knew. You could tell by the sad looks on their faces. Some of the older ones were talking about marriage, meeting their special companions. A few even brought their fiances and or wife. One even had a child, barely six months old. A little boy, named after one of the Gladers that had died. For some reason, it wasn't named after Alby. But somehow Thomas knew that it would be saved for Newt to name his son (or daughter with a feminine form of it). And the thought of Newt getting married to some girl and settling down tugged something. He knew what it was, but he refused to think about it.

"Hey Thomas, you thinking of anyone special?" Clint asked, one of the only Medjacks they had in the Glade, "Ya gonna settle down?"

"Nah. I'm gonna be a lone wolf," Thomas joked, not managing to look at Newt.

But if he had, he would have noticed the way that Newt looked hurt. His face contorting into a mixture of emotions before hiding behind a mask so carefully built. Only someone had noticed, even if it wasn't Thomas. A shoulder bumped Newt, Minho's, and he gave the other boy a small smile. The rest of the Gladers went back to their conversations, a few so drunk they were singing some new pop song. At some point the Glader, Jeff maybe?, with the baby left. Everyone gave him tight hugs and smiled at the little boy. After that point the Gladers began to trickle out, until it was only the four that lived in Beacon Hills left.

"Hey Stiles?" Allison asked, her dark hair in a braid down her back, "Do you think we'll ever see them again?"

Thomas glanced over at her, then to Minho, and lastly Newt. A small smile crossed his face, spreading slowly.

"Yeah, I think so."

_*Three Years After*_

It was a rare occurance that Thomas was ever alone. He lived with two other boys, the sheriff, and had a pack full of wolves that had no concept of space. Only minutes before Scott had left with Isaac and Allison. But now, he was unsure of what to do. After all, like he had said before, there was hardly ever a moment that he was ever alone. He wasn't sure, but he was pretty positive that Newt was out watching a new movie that had come out with Minho. Then again, he wasn't sure. It was possible that they were just hanging out together. Whatever that meant.

"What are ya thinking about now?" a voice asked near the door.

Thomas forced himself into an awkward position, the top of his head pushing against the bed and his body arching, as he looked towards the person standing by the door. His hair was really long now, pulled back in a pretty awesome man bun. A strip of cloth was used to hold it up, as Newt preferred to tie it up rather than to use a hairband. No one had been able to figure out why yet, and Thomas wasn't sure he really wanted to know.

"Hey Newt," and that was promptly when Thomas fell out of bed with a thunk.

"You really have gotten clumsier," Newt commented walking over.

"Shut up."

Thomas stared at Newt upside down, wrinkling his nose slightly. They got letters and postcards and emails from some of the other Gladers occasionally. But nothing had really been as exciting as when Frypan got in contact with them (he hardly ever did anything other than the odd postcard from wherever he was at), and sent a picture with him and his fiancee. They had been invited to his wedding next week. But they were leaving tomorrow as Minho, Newt, and Thomas had all become his groomsmen. One of Frypan's new friend would be his best man, but everyone knew that if Alby had survived Frypan would have given it to him.

"You excited for Frypan's wedding?" Newt asked, sitting down next to Thomas.

"More nervous than anything," Thomas agreed.

"You'd be jacked if you weren't. I don't know what groomsmen do!"  
"You just stand there an' look pretty."

"Ya think I'm pretty Tommy?"

Newt fluttered his eyelashes and Thomas couldn't help but feel his face heat up. It was obvious that a blush covered his whole face. His eyes flickered towards Newt's lips, his tongue darting out to lick his own lips. Slowly their faces moved together, drawn as if by a magnet, and Thomas' eyes fluttered close. Soft lips touched his own and a hand pressed against the back of his neck. Thomas' own hand reached up and cupped the back of Newt's head, moving them closer together. The kiss deepened some before it was broken by a cough. They broke apart quickly, blushing deeply.

"Close the door next time," Minho said.

"Um..."

"Sorry Min."

_*Six Years After*_

It was actually the first time he had gone to Chuck's grave since the funeral... six years ago. No one was here with him, he was alone. There were plenty of graves here that he knew, that he had already visited. But this was the first time he managed to go to Chuck's, the boy he let down. A tear traced down his cheek, falling into the dirt on the ground. In all honesty, he wasn't supposed to be here. He was supposed to be heading home right now, to his family. But it just felt right to come here. Maybe it was because just a few months ago Chuck's mother had died. She was buried right next to her son and his father.

"Hey Chuck," Thomas said hoarsely, "It's been six years bud. Six shuckin' years since I last saw you. A lot has changed since then, let me tell you that."

He knelt down in the dirt, the front of his pants getting dirty. A shaky hand reached out and touched the top of the weathered marble, gently stroking the top of it before tracing the engravings of Chuck's name and his birth and death date. The kid had only been thirteen years old when he had died. Too young, much too young. He couldn't find it in himself to look at the quote on the grave. It had been taken from Chuck's favorite book, according to his mother. The same book Minho had read many times, especially in the hospital when they had first escaped; _'To Kill a Mockingbird'_. And well, irony sucks. Chuck was their Mockingbird.

"Frypan got married. They have a kid now, Charlotte. She was named after you," Thomas told him, hand dropping to his side, "Clint has a son, Benjamin, and a daughter named Marie."

How he wished he had brought something to put on Chuck's grave, flowers or something. But it was too late now, kinda a spur of the moment thing. In fact he hadn't realized where he was going until he had stopped in front of the cemetery. His hand squeezed the dirt, it was the middle of the summer so the grass had kinda disappeared by now. Only dirt was there really. Especially in Beacon Hills. 

"Allison, you would know her as Teresa, got married as well. She moved away with her husband, they're going back to France. Too many memories here for them I suppose, good and bad. Gally was released from jail a few months ago. He's working as a mechanic and carpenter now," Thomas continued, releasing the dirt, "Everyone's moving on with their lives and I feel stuck. I can't get over it really. It's been six years and I still feel like the same boy that came outta that box. I have kids now Chuck... they look up to me. But every night I wake up screaming cause of some shucked up memory. Just yesterday I blew out the windows in our room and caused everything to float."

Despite Deaton's insistent nagging, Thomas hadn't really worked that hard on controlling the spark. Meditation didn't work, he had ADHD sue him, and he didn't know who to anchor himself too. Maybe Newt, but he didn't want him to have to deal with all the things that came with that. But it was hard, so hard to control it without an anchor. Even the chant that Liam does... it doesn't work for him.

"I just... I don't know what to do," Thomas admitted softly.

"I heard talking helps."

Thomas flailed in surprise and nearly fell over. A look behind him managed to make him relax. Newt cut his hair recently, a nice clean cut that he had to admit looked amazing on him. There was a small frown on his face and his hands were in his pockets. They had managed to make a life for themselves in Beacon Hills. Thomas was a deputy, much like his father before him, and was even looking like he would become Sheriff. Newt, however, was a very successful artist and part-time school teacher. He taught art and history at the High School. It was an interesting mix.

"How did you find me?" Thomas asked, standing up slowly.

"GPS in your phone. You okay Tommy?" Newt questioned scrutinizing him, "You were supposed to be home hours ago."

"What? I haven't been here that long."

"Alby and Rachel are worried about you."  
Alby was their son, he has dark curly hair and green eyes. He was only three years old. They adopted him when he was just a baby and raised him as their own. Their plan was to tell him he was adopted as soon as he understood what that was. At the moment though, he was too young. His mother hadn't even named him, but she had let Alby go as she knew she wouldn't be able to raise him properly. Rachel though, she was another story. Her name came from a dead girl from Group B, whom Thomas knew from before the maze. They had been close friends, but not as close as he was with Newt and she was with Aris (the only male of Group B). Aris had died before he could have any kids though, from cancer. Allison told Thomas to take the name when him and Newt had taken Rachel in. You see, Rachel was older than Alby. She was six years old and knew she was adopted. Her hair was a light brown with some auburn highlights and her eyes were a dark brown. But that's not it about Rachel, you see Rachel is deaf. At first Newt and Thomas had been hesitant about taking her in, but now were glad of their decision. Rachel had been found hidden in a closet after someone had called 911 about a possible break in. By the time they had gotten there it was too late. Rachel's parents had been murdered and the robber had stuck needles into Rachel's ear. The damage was to extensive and there was nothing they could have done. Did I forget to mention? Thomas and Newt got married about a year after their first kiss

"They shouldn't have been. I'm fine, where are they anyways?" Thomas asked.

"With your dad," Newt replied, gently cupping Thomas' face.

"Newt."

"Did you ever think we would make it here?" Newt suddenly asked, caressing Thomas' cheek, "Being successful, having kids? A normal life? Any of it."

Thomas' tongue darted out in thought. Honestly, in the Glade all he really cared about was surviving. Once he was out all he wanted was to know, to understand everything. And then Lilith happened, the kidnapping, all of it. He thought he was going to die. A future, all of it had seemed so distant and hard to reach he hadn't thought about it. But now, now that he was here and looking back on everything that happened. Thomas decided that it was worth it.

"No," Thomas admitted, "But I'm glad we did."

And as Thomas walked away from Chuck's grave with Newt, while walking towards his life, he spared a glance back at Chuck's grave to read the words written on it:

_**Charles "Chuck"  Harks** _

_**May 16, 2003 - July 20, 2016** _

 

 

 

_**“Real courage is when you know you're licked before you begin, but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what.” —Atticus Finch** _

He couldn't help but smile.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Me: Done!! Well, this chapter at least. So originally Teresa wasn’t going to be Allison, but then I realized that it actually worked. In the book they were described alike so I just kinda rolled with my muse.  
> Newt: She’s a slinthead.  
> Me: Language.  
> Review Here -- More to come.


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